


The Witch of Oak Woods

by whispersofday



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Coercion, Curses, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Family Secrets, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Infant Death, Infertility, Literary References & Allusions, Mental Coercion, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Murder, Prophecy, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Substance Abuse, The Mourning Madam's Once Upon A Time Dramione Fairy Tale Fest, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 32
Words: 176,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispersofday/pseuds/whispersofday
Summary: In a foolish attempt to protect his family, Draco Malfoy aligns himself with the Dark Lord.  Doubt sets in the more he pays attention to Hermione Granger.  His aunt is extra special, Luna Lovegood is a perceptive enigma, and damn it all to hell, Potter is the hero as usual.  When Draco is forced to escape with his school rivals, the reticent group will uncover a darkness even Lord Voldemort failed to realize.Slow burn tale, not particularly funny (seriously, it isn’t) and weird as hell.  *kisses*This fic will contain numerous depictions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, sexual innuendo and conduct, thoughts of self-harm, coercion, and issues of substance abuse (both voluntary and involuntary) as well as brief mentions of infant death, infertility and high risk childbirth.In short, there are numerous adult themes and situations; the chapters in this work may be triggering to some readers.





	1. Beginnings and Prologues

**Author's Note:**

> I am pretty excited to be getting this out "there." This is my first published fic and I am scared out of my mind. I initially thought this fest would be perfect, in that I would post a short little ficlet and get my toes wet. But the story Nikki gave me inspired something far greater than I was prepared for (thank you, I think). After several attempts, I accepted that this is just going to have to be a multi-chapter adventure and it is going to take much longer than I planned. Hopefully, a few of you will join me on this journey.  
As I rarely miss a deadline, I am crossing my fingers that if I put this out here I will stick to it: updates weekly. I hope you all enjoy my attempts. *kisses*
> 
> Written for TheMourningMadam’s Once Upon a Time Fairytale Fest  
Assigned Fairy Tale: Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde  
Characters and elements from the Harry Potter World are not mine. This is just a bit of fun.

The Oak Woods had become invisible in their old age, just a passing blur to the motorists who sped by on their way to anywhere else. But for as little as the surrounding villages appreciated the beauty of the strong trees, there was magic in their roots. Centuries in the making, the Oak Woods stood proud and tall, practically humming with enchantments.

Nestled in a small clearing within the wood was a stunning manor. The gatehouse and keep were made of stone with numerous windows and slanting roofs. Gardens, both formal and informal, surrounded the structure. The lord of the house had sought out the isolation, and understood the inherent strength and endurance of the trees around the dell. He and his wife raised their three daughters in the magic little pocket, the Oak Woods a wall of protection from the filthy, non-magical world.

Fearless, the eldest daughter of the lord made her way through the trees that snagged her wild hair and clung to her ankles. The night was eerily quiet, her rustling movements and the snapping of twigs under her feet as she walked determinedly into the forest were the only sounds. The creatures that lived in these woods had long ago learned to stay hidden when she approached. She smirked to herself, admiring her solitude.

Arriving at the largest oak tree in the midst of the trees, she ran her fingers across the runes she had carved into its bark as a child. This had been her temple. She circled the tree, her fingers caressing it as she went, and catalogued all the sacred acts she had contrived here. Her first sacrifice had been a mouse from the kitchen trap. She had quickly realized it wasn’t enough and had slit the throat of a rabbit next.

“What sacrifice must I make to escape this sentence?” she mused. Her fury was bubbling within her. Her father had settled her betrothal that morning. She pressed her forehead against the oak and closed her eyes. Her thoughts played within her mind, images of her parents, the family tree, her Lord. Images of her betrothed, Rodolphus, as he stared at the blood traitor, Alice. “How can I persuade the Dark Lord to ask for my hand instead?” The oak offered nothing.

Bellatrix shrieked and spun away from the tree. “How will I survive this contract?” she snarled. The branches of the large oak began to move as if the wind had blown. She rushed to the tree and knelt down before it. Slowly, as she meditated beneath its canopy, a small smile graced her face. “Well, that is a sacrifice I am more than happy to make.”


	2. Brick and Mortar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: descriptions of violence

Draco Malfoy slouched on one of the leather seats in the Billiards Room of Malfoy Manor. He had been playing Wizard’s Pyramids with his friends, Vincent Crabbe and Theodore Nott, when they were ordered to let the _adults_ play a round. The three young men were home for summer break before their sixth year and had attempted to stay out of the way of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters. Their fathers had been in a bit of trouble with the ministry at the end of the school year and were currently residing in the wizarding prison, Azkaban. Pyramids had seemed like an excellent distraction from their woes but had ultimately served as just another reminder that Draco’s home was no longer a safe haven. Draco fumed while he struggled to maintain his passive face and watched the four intruders abuse his belongings. With the Dark Lord residing in the manor, Draco had no choice but to adhere to the whims of the Death Eaters. He wasn’t sure if, in this instance, it was his mother’s wrath he feared more, though. She would not be pleased should he cause even the slightest reason for _Lord Voldemort_ to pay any attention to him.

Nott sighed. “If our fathers were here, these fools wouldn’t dare to treat us this way.”   
Draco nodded as the three young men watched the Carrows, Travers and Gibbon struggle to master the art of Pyramids. All fifteen balls were still in play. Unlike the muggle version, Wizard’s Pyramids took place in the air. The cushions framed the playing area and the pockets were actual baskets floating above the four corners and the middle of the longest two sections of the frame.   
Allecto Carrow shot for a side pocket but the baskets shifted just before her ball went in; a hazard of Wizard’s Pyramids. The ball sailed through the air and burst into flames before a new ball appeared within the playing area. Draco bit back a snigger, but she eyed him suspiciously.

“I am surprised by the shoddy accoutrements provided at Malfoy Manor,” Quill Travers said while grinning at his companions. “But perhaps I shouldn’t be. There is, of course, an obvious pattern of the Malfoy flair ultimately lacking luster.”   
The Carrows chortled together while Travers eyed the balls in the playing area.

Allecto slowly walked in front of the young Slytherins, attempting to sway her stocky form in a sultry fashion while twirling her wand in her stubby fingers. “I imagine Lucius feels quite relieved to find himself under the attentive care of the dementors,” she piped in. “I look forward to witnessing the torture our Dark Lord hurls on him if he ever escapes Azkaban.” She squealed out a giggle and moved to stand beside her brother.

“Now, now, Alecto,” murmured Travers. “I am sure Lucius will find a way to rise up from his abysmal performance. Perhaps, he is looking forward to his second round of endless torture from our Lord? And after he feels as though he has been skinned alive and prays to choke on his own tongue, perhaps he will miraculously provide a way to retrieve Harry Potter.” The last words were choked out as Travers attempted to hold back a laugh.   
The four Death Eaters casually looked in Draco’s direction, sneering, before resuming their game.

“This is the Malfoy manor,” Draco whispered to his friends. “They act as if they can lord over me in my own home. When my father returns, he will remind them why you never cross a Malfoy.”

A bark of laughter interrupted the conversation, and the three young men looked up to see Gregory Goyle, his father and Corbon Yaxley had entered the room behind them. Greg moved to join the young men, but was held back by his father.

“You would do well to realize, Draco,” said Yaxley, “that the Malfoy’s aren’t so powerful anymore. Your pathetic excuse for a father has failed our Dark Lord one too many times. And his last failure lost us a dozen of our comrades!”

The man moved to the billiards perimeter and laid a galleon on the cushion. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in,” he inquired, while not looking at anyone in the room but intently on the game before him. He flicked his wand at one of the red balls in the middle of the playing area and the ball landed in a corner basket just as the net shifted into place. He walked the perimeter of the cushions and flicked his wand again, sending one ball into another and knocking them both into a basket.   
Yaxley looked at Draco, a smirk on his face, and then flicked his wand yet again, but the red ball overshot the frame and headed directly for Draco. Draco jerked his head to avoid the ball, but it burst into flames, landing in a pile of ash at his feet.

“Oh, what rotten luck,” said Yaxley. “You should be careful of foul plays, Draco. We wouldn’t want you, or your dear mum, to get hurt, now would we?”

Draco rose from his seat, clenching his teeth to refrain from speaking, and stormed from the room, the laughter of several voices chasing him before the door closed behind his retreating form. Draco knew that Yaxley was just taunting him, but he needed to see his mother and be sure she was alright and the danger of him losing his temper was too great. Checking his holster and finding his wand still there, he quickly walked in the direction of his mother’s sitting room.

His solitary footsteps soon doubled when Theodore Nott caught up with him. “Goyle’s father isn’t letting him out of his sight, so Crabbe is watching the game with him.”  
“Not much of a game for Yaxley against those idiots,” Draco replied.  
Theo made a noise of agreement. “Yaxley left already. Or, left the room, at least. Travers went with him.”  
Draco wasn’t sure he liked the idea of those two prowling his home, but since the homeless Dark Lord had made the manor his lair, it had become overrun with uncomfortable situations.

Quickly surveying the hall, Draco grabbed Theo by the arm and pulled him to a large painting of a bridge. Holding his palm to the corner of the frame, the painting shifted and revealed an opening behind. The young men hurried into the space and the painting closed behind them.

Theo was not surprised by the situation. Draco had shown him many secret passages when they were younger. He knew that he had not seen all of them, but perhaps more than most of their friends. Draco trusted very few with the secrets of the manor. Theo surveyed his friend in the softly lit tunnel. The lighting was better for revealing the small gleam of a glamor on Draco’s face. Theo couldn’t be sure what it was hiding, but most likely fatigue. Who could rest when sharing a home with a monster that never slept?

They had been walking for several minutes, making several turns and climbing up multiple flights of stairs before descending another. “Not much of a shortcut,” Theo said.  
“No,” replied Draco. “But only a Malfoy can access these tunnels. Not even my aunt Bellatrix can make use of these passages without the assistance of my parents or myself. We haven’t let her know about them.” Draco nodded in the direction they were headed. “We are almost there.”   
Even as he spoke the words, the two men could hear the soft sound of voices, growing louder the closer they came to a wall in front of them. A high-pitched giggle alerted the men to the presence of their schoolmate, Pansy Parkinson, in the room on the other side of the wall.

Draco rolled his eyes while Theo smirked.   
“She must be with her mother,” Theo said.  
“Of course. Otherwise, she would have been kicking our arses at Pyramids,” replied Draco.  
“Before the idiots took over the room, you mean,” Theo continued. “But, seriously, I think I have only heard her laugh like that when trying to hide the fact she is cringing at her mother.”  
Draco grinned while placing his palm on the wall. Slowly, as if clouds were moving, the view of the room on the other side of the wall could be seen like looking through a window. Theo stumbled back, but Draco shook his head. “All they see is a mirror.”

Theo surveyed the room and was surprised to see Peter Pettigrew in the corner. “Why is he there?” he asked, pointing at the man.  
Draco frowned. “Haven’t you noticed?” he sneered. “My mother is never alone. The Dark Lord has informed us it's for her protection that the lady of the house should always have a man watch over her and with my father unavailable to perform his duties, the Dark Lord is more than happy to provide for her. Of course, it is only the watching he seems to care about. He almost seems certain that she would flee if she could.”  
“Would she?”  
“It is our duty to protect the Malfoy interests, Theo. She would never flee.”  
“Not without you, you mean?”  
“Not without the family; all three of us.”

Pansy’s uncomfortable laugh broke their conversation. “Mother,” she crooned, “however honored I may be to be a Malfoy, Draco and I could never work.”

“Is she joking?” asked Theo. “I thought it was her life’s mission to woo you.”  
Draco laughed. “Not at all. It was her life’s mission to convince people she isn’t queer.”  
  
“She still likes men, though?”  
“Worried?” Draco asked. He smirked while Theo rolled his eyes. “She’ll go both ways, but if mommy and pappy knew she’d be swinging on the street.”  
Theo glanced quickly at Draco before turning back to the view of the room. “How’d you find out?”  
“I asked,” Draco sighed. “I know her well enough to know she would never think throwing herself at me or shrieking pet names at me would work.”  
“Disappointed?” Theo asked, his question serious.   
Draco looked at Theo and shook his head. “More like relieved. She's a good friend. I have no desire to see her caught in the mess my father put us in.”

“…friends can make the best spouse, dear,” Pansy’s mother was saying. “In fact, your father and I were only friends when we were married.”  
“Now, Pricilla, that isn’t entirely accurate” interjected Narcissa Malfoy. She was finding that a headache was beginning to form at the base of her skull. While it was certainly nice to have company to distract from the realities of her current situation, such drivel was almost worse. Narcissa also suspected there was more to Pansy’s hesitation. A certain blonde witch who Lucius had his eyes on for Draco. A problem for another day, for certain.

Before the women could continue, however, the door swung open as Corban Yaxley entered with Travers and Thorfinn Rowle. Peter Pettigrew immediately stood straight upon their entrance and bowed his head in their direction, quivering pathetically and avoiding eye contact.   
“Mrs. Parkinson,” exclaimed Yaxley. “What a pleasure to see you here.” He eyed the Parkinson women and slowly turned to Narcissa. “It is certainly lovely to see a family so loyal to their friends.”

Draco and Theo tensed on the other side of the wall watching as Pricilla and Pansy both smiled tightly while Narcissa eyed the three new entrants.

“Pricilla, dear,” began Narcissa “I believe you mentioned you had a reservation you could not be late for?”

A brief look of confusion touched Pricilla Parkinson’s face before she swiftly fell into her Slytherin instinct and nodded. “Oh! Has time flown so quickly?” She asked, masking her confusion with the question, and rose from her seat to help her daughter gather their hats and hand bags from the nearby table.

“But what is the hurry?” asked Rowle. “Certainly, you would not have such an early reservation? How distressing, will they even be serving a starter, yet?” he continued, his tone snide.

“What an arsehole,” whispered Theo.

“The restaurant is some distance away and we will need to dress properly,” replied Pricilla as she ushered her daughter to the door.

“I must admit,” Yaxley replied, “I, too, would look for an out from visiting with the Malfoys if nuptials were on the table. Aligning oneself to that name would certainly be erroneous in times like these. My nephew is a student at Durmstrang. Perhaps an introduction could be made?”

Pricilla smiled sweetly and nodded her head. “That would be lovely. Perhaps at our next meeting we can schedule a time to discuss?” Turning her head to Narcissa, Pricilla continued “Thank you for the lovely tea. As always, you have shown yourself to be an insightful and giving hostess.”   
The two Parkinson’s hurried from the room while Yaxley slowly smiled at Narcissa.

Theo watched Draco. His friend was clenching his fists. His face was screwed up in obvious anger, but as soon as he registered that Theo was looking at him, he exhaled. Quickly his face was unreadable again. Theo shook his head and felt the anxiety in his own chest tighten more.

“My apologies, Narcissa,” Yaxley was saying. “It was honestly not my intent to break up your party.”  
“Nonsense, Mr. Yaxley. It really was time for their departure or they would have limited time to prepare for their evening’s plans.” She began to refill her tea cup and motioned for the men to join her. Snapping her fingers, a house elf appeared at the table. Quickly the creature cleared the Parkinson’s service, and presented a new one for the men.

“Actually, Narcissa, we won’t be joining you. I was only intending to say hello to the lady of the house before my departure. Thorfinn and I do have duties to see to and Travers was on his way out.”   
Draco snorted.  
“A pity, to be sure. But I am pleased you thought of me when visiting my home,” Narcissa replied.

Yaxley narrowed his eyes, not missing the subtle jab. “Such a lovely home. Perhaps the only real contribution the Malfoys can make to our Dark Lord under your current circumstances. Of course, I would think of the lady residing in the house while I attend to the true Lord’s needs. Such a shame Lucius is not here to redeem his worth.”

Yaxley circled the table and eyed Travers as he approached Pettigrew. Pettigrew stood up straight again and gave an uncomfortable smile to Travers.   
“I find it quite interesting that this miserable fool,” Travers said as he turned to Narcissa “is in better standing with our Lord than the entire Malfoy family. I certainly hope your situation improves if Lucius returns home. But unless the man can hand Hogwarts itself over to the Dark Lord, I find that very unlikely. Although, if a woman such as yourself were to find herself without a husband, I am certain she would find no issues obtaining a new, more worthy, match.”

Theo had to physically hold Draco back.   
“Did you hear him?” Draco whispered urgently. “That bellend! If he ever comes near her again, Theo, I don’t know what I will do!”  
Theo just looked at Draco, unsure of what to say.

Yaxley smirked and looked at Rowle. “No need to see us out, madame. We know the way.”

“Oh, but what kind of hostess would I be if I failed to see to our Dark Lord’s most loyal servants? Peter, please see these _gentlemen_ out?” Narcissa smiled coldly, her tone making her distaste for the men apparent.

Peter looked between the two, and deciding they were less intimidating than the woman in the room, followed the three men out.   
Narcissa quickly rose from her seat and waved her wand over the door frame. “They are gone,” she said, turning to the mirror.

Draco placed his finger in the same spot he had touched before and the wall opened.  
“How did she know we were here?” Theo quietly whispered.  
“I gave up trying to figure out her methods a long time ago.” Draco quickly approached his mother and kissed her cheek. “Mother, are you alright?”  
“Of course, dear.” She looked to Theo and smiled. “Just a few fools trumpeting about. Now please, both of you, join me for tea. My guests had to rush out and I haven’t had a proper cup of tea, yet.”

“Mother,” Draco began as the group made their way to the readied table. “Why must we put up with these people? Surely, we have more power than this? Surely, we are not helpless with father in prison?” He helped her to her seat and both men sat with her.  
  
“My dear, Draco,” Narcissa began, cupping his cheek in her hand, “your father is a Death Eater. And we, as Malfoys, will follow our patriarch. The Dark Lord is capable of many things and we will tolerate the tools he utilizes to ensure our world is protected.”  
Draco looked quickly at Theo before saying, “but he terrifies me, mother.”   
Theo nodded his head. Both men felt small confessing their fear to Narcissa, but she reached out, taking one of their hands in each of hers.  
“I am, too. But I vowed to stand by your father.”  
“To our death, mother?”  
“To flee would guarantee your father’s death. We are only inconvenienced here. The Dark Lord is focused on his mission. And his desire to get Harry Potter. As much as I hate that your father is in Azkaban, without a plan for gaining access to the Potter boy, we are all safest with him there.”  
“But why, mother? Father only failed when the Order of the bloody Phoenix arrived at the ministry. These Death Eaters act as if it were only Potter and his friends, but if Aunt Bellatrix killed your cousin and the Dark Lord battled Dumbledore, that isn’t the entire story! Why won’t he break our fathers out, mother? Why are Vincent and Theo in the same boat, if this was just father’s failure? Why should we be loyal to the Dark Lord when he is only interested in himself.”  
Narcissa bristled in her seat. “Watch your tongue, Draco!” she hissed.

“Yes, nephew,” hummed a new voice. Narcissa closed her eyes as Draco looked to the door of the room. Bellatrix Lestrange lounged in the entryway, her wand dangling loosely in her fingertips as she looked directly at Draco.


	3. The Prize Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief description of violence

Draco felt his spine stiffen. Bellatrix was, perhaps, the only person who he had ever witnessed surprise his mother by her sudden presence in a room. He looked to his mother and watched as her cool demeanor settled into place. She lifted an eyebrow and he knew she expected him to remain silent during whatever lecture Bellatrix was about to bestow. How his aunt unsettled him. Her blind devotion to the Dark Lord was cringe-worthy.

He could clearly recall the time he met her after she escaped from Azkaban. It was his third year and she had roared with anger, demanding to know what was wrong with him, while he watched her mad eyes dance between him and his parents. He had been both excited and nervous to meet his escaped aunt and her cohorts, but her reaction to him was troubling. She had cackled at his mother and clapped her hands before going on some mad rant about hair color and plays well made. And then she had taken him into a bone crushing embrace and cooed about how she would make up for time lost. He had held his breath and willed himself not to retch at her odor, desperately hoping she would be too busy with his father and his friends to spend any time with him. But when she wasn’t with the other Death Eaters, she would find Draco and demand that he learn the darkest of magic in order to please her master. She would hex him and penetrate his thoughts as if she were digging in his brain with pieces of broken glass, all she assured him, to teach him to protect his mind. Yet, he had only ever felt weaker and exposed after her lessons.

Draco watched her face as she continued to play with her wand.   
“Where is your sense of honor?” she questioned as she slowly walked into the room, pulling Draco back to the present. “You should feel privileged that the Dark Lord should reside in your home.” Bellatrix spun in a circle, still twirling her wand, as she approached the table where the three sat. “Lucius failed us all and those who were captured with him are not worthy of our thoughts.” She grabbed Draco’s chin harshly. “Your father was incompetent, Draco. I watched him cater to a child, play it safe with his curses and reveal our presence to all of the ministry.” She pushed his face away and pointed her wand at his throat. “He demonstrated he was nothing but talk and were it not for matters you do not understand, I would swear he was trying to fail! The Dark Lord should have entrusted me instead of him! Yet,” she continued as she backed away from the table, “our Lord still bestows mercy on you and Cissy. I am sure for my sake as I am his most loyal servant.” Still pointing her wand at Draco, Bellatrix stood straight lifting her head high and pointing her nose into the air. “How dare you speak with such lack of respect, you spineless maggot!”

Draco tried to relax, knowing what was coming, but as she lifted her wand, he felt his muscles tense. “Crucio!” she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. The curse was over almost as soon as it began. Draco looked up to see his mother had lifted Bellatrix’s hand up to pull the curse off of him. The sisters were looking at each other, their postures rigid.

“Not my son, Bella. Not ever my son.”  
Bellatrix was breathing heavily, her dark eyes staring intently at her sister. “You should consider yourselves lucky it is me providing the reprimand and not our master.”  
“Bella, it is our job as his family to protect him,” Narcissa countered. “Of course, you would keep him from placing himself in danger and I thank you. But you will not harm him again.”

Bellatrix laughed loudly and reached out to touch Narcissa’s hair. “Oh, Cissy, when I am done with Draco he will be the pride of our Dark Lord.” She quickly tugged at the hair in her hand, and then cast the strands aside. “Leave us and take the Nott child with you. Draco and I have much to discuss and lessons to learn.”

Narcissa studied Bellatrix carefully before motioning for Theo to follow her out of the room. Draco was not surprised by her departure. His mother rarely did anything openly against Bellatrix. He assumed it was her choosing her battles and felt relatively safe if she deemed it acceptable to leave him alone with his aunt now.

“Oh, and Cissy?” Bellatrix called after Narcissa, “as formidable as these spry young men may be, I am sure they are not what the Dark Lord intended when he insisted you have a guard. Wormy is certainly frantic to have lost you.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed but she nodded her head as if the movement pained her and accepted Theo’s arm for him to escort her from the room.

Draco determined to put on a brave face and took a sip of his tea. It had become cold, the charm to keep it at the perfect temperature either having worn off or never having been placed. He pretended not to care and continued to drink while eyeing his aunt as she walked around the room. She was touching the items on display and appearing to talk to herself. He had learned over the years to allow her these conversations she had and pretend not to notice. She usually became more centered after her ruminations. From experience, he knew that if he refrained from using magic and acted as though no time had passed, she would fall into the semblance of a sane person and he could learn a great deal from her. The longest occasion had lasted an entire day. Having learned from a previous episode not to leave the room under any circumstances, he had actually soiled himself during this occasion. Bellatrix had never noticed and it was during this time that she had shown him _Furnunculus_! which he had used with much success against the mudblood. He felt the usual sinking feeling in his chest when he thought of the bushy haired witch, which he attributed to the dread of having to see her again at Hogwarts in just a few short weeks. Perhaps Aunt Bellatrix would have another hex to throw at the Gryffindors.

“No, nephew, there will be no passing of knowledge on hexes today.”

Draco started and focused his eyes to see Bellatrix staring intently into them. He must have zoned out while lost in his thoughts and she had jumped at the opportunity to penetrate his mind. Quickly he began lifting his mental walls, cursing himself for not hearing her muttered spell to enter his head. He had felt no pain, which led him to believe she had only touched the surface, listening to his active inner dialogue. Bellatrix was never delicate when maneuvering within the confines of a person’s brain. He jutted out his chin, but remained silent. Even a passably sane Bellatrix was not to be trifled with.

She snickered at Draco before flicking his hair with her finger. “No, today we will provide the prize rose for the Death Eaters so you may restore the Malfoy name.”  
Draco felt his heart race. Any deal or offer she had would be filled with insanity and likely severe consequences for himself. “What exactly do you have in mind, Aunt Bella?”  
She squealed and twirled her wand. “Come now, my little bird, what have these lower Death Eaters all been squawking about? What is it they think your father can never do?”  
He swallowed slowly, confident of the answer but not pleased in the direction this conversation was going. “Get Potter.”  
She smiled. “But you can, can’t you? You out of all of us have the best access to that miserable brat.”  
“Are you telling me I should kill Potter?”  
“No! No, no, that honor should be the Dark Lord’s. Potter is a gnat he is anxious to swat. But you could certainly get the Lord’s army to him. Prove to the rest of them that you can open Hogwarts for them to invade and provide the Dark Lord with exactly what he wants because of your efforts.” She smiled slowly and tilted her head to the side like a dog waiting for a treat. “Surely, the rest of the Death Eaters would be more than impressed with your work and never doubt the prowess of the Malfoy name ever again.” She had attempted to sound soothing, but her voice was laced with condescension.

Regardless of her tone, Draco felt a niggling thought in his head, as if he had just realized there was a tiny cut on his finger, but it was actually on his brain. Graham Montague's tale of a cupboard that transported him back and forth last year. The tall cabinet at Borgin and Burkes that was labeled as a Vanishing Cabinet and looked exactly like the cabinet Montague described. Draco suddenly felt cold and off balance. He wasn’t certain if he had figured this out on his own, or if his aunt had while traipsing around in his memories, but he certainly did have a way to get the Death Eaters to Potter. He shook his head, aware that she left no indication she had been anywhere but his surface thoughts. She had just needled his brain enough to kickstart a solution. Most likely, the perfect solution. He would show those fools lounging around in his home why you should never doubt a Malfoy. He looked at his aunt and smiled, unaware that her expression of absolute glee was mirrored on his face.

“I am no fan of your father, Draco, of that I am sure you are confident. But you are my sister’s son. Black blood runs through your veins and I know you will make a worthy Death Eater.”

Draco felt his heart skip a beat. It was one thing to think about letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts to snatch Potter away from the fool of a headmaster, but actually joining the monster was a different matter entirely. He looked towards Bellatrix, trying to avoid her eyes, but she didn’t need legilimency to know his thoughts.

She frowned at him and tsked. “You will never restore your father’s name without offering your complete loyalty to the Dark Lord. You must request to take the dark mark and offer our master entry into Hogwarts. It is the only way to show the rest of the Death Eaters the proper respect owed to you and your mother.”  
“Why must it be me?” snarled Draco. “As you have said, we are family. Why can’t you keep your sister from harm?”

Bellatrix laughed loudly and spun around in another circle. Draco felt uncomfortable watching her as she teetered between sanity and insanity. She twirled her wand and sent a stinging jinx to his legs. He sucked in air but waited for her to answer.

“Now, now, little nephew. I am my master’s most loyal servant and Cissy and you are unharmed because of this alone. I am already your savior and I demand you earn it!” Bellatrix slammed her hand on the table, the tea in the remaining cups splashing out and staining the tablecloth. Draco watched in fascination as the red tea turned dark on the white fabric.

“You have no idea of how honored you should feel that I even consider you worthy of my master! You want to show those Death Eaters you are not to be trifled with while hiding behind my and your mother’s skirts?” Bellatrix cackled; her blackened teeth exposed in her wide mouth. “Perhaps, there really is nothing more to the Malfoy name than illusions and shadow tricks. Perhaps you are as worthless as your father.”

“My father is not worthless! The Malfoys are a worthy and pure line and I will show all of you we are not to be so disrespected! And I will make sure no harm comes to my mother”  
Bellatrix smirked. “And how will you do that, dear nephew?”  
“I will get the Dark Lord’s chosen followers into Hogwarts in order to capture Potter.” Draco was defiant, his chin raised and his back straight.  
Bellatrix shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You must take the mark, boy. He and the rest will never take you seriously otherwise.”  
Draco swallowed and stared at her. “I am too young. You all call me a child; a boy. Surely, he would never expect me to offer my servitude to him. Surely, the offer of Hogwarts is enough.”

He never saw it coming. One moment he was looking into the deranged, hooded eyes of his aunt and the next he was wreathing on the floor as his muscles convulsed and cramped within his limbs. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt the oxygen draining from his lungs. This wasn’t the worst she had done. He could only hope that this meant it wouldn’t last as long either. Draco struggled to place his mental walls up to block the pain, but he hadn’t prepared. And suddenly, her laughter penetrated the agony and his body began to relax.

“That is nothing compared to what the Dark Lord will do to you if you waste his time.” She kicked him in his stomach and stepped over his body as she made her way to the door. Before exiting, she turned back to his body on the floor. “The mark, Draco. He will have no time for you otherwise.”


	4. The Weight of Irrelevance

On a particularly hot summer day in the Hampstead Garden Suburb of London, a group of teenagers sat together in the open-air arena of Little Wood. They all sat around a bushy-haired girl and, to the casual observer, it would seem as if they were all eager to be near the girl. They had joined her and were looking intently at her, laughing in what appeared to be a good-natured manner. Unfortunately, the casual observer would be poorly mistaken. The girl, Hermione Granger, had always been a bit different from the rest and the rest never liked that about her. 

Hermione felt on edge. She wasn’t as comfortable in the muggle world as she once was and the group around her were not what she considered friends. She had only agreed to attend this summer production by the local amateur theatre troupe because her mother had pleaded with her to do so. 

_“Hermione,” _she had said,_ “you really do need to maintain some of your ties with the muggle world. Your father and I need you to be a part of our reality, too.”_

There had been a note of sorrow in her mother’s tone and that had been enough for Hermione to disregard that fact that it had not been her peers who had invited her, but Mrs. Janus, the mother of her old classmate, Mariah. Elaine Granger and Mrs. Janus had been friends since childhood and had always imagined that Mariah and Hermione would have the same sort of friendship they had. As Mariah and Hermione had only seen each other on a handful of occasions since finishing primary school, Hermione felt that her mother and Mrs. Janus should really let that one go. 

Hermione had arrived at Little Wood much earlier than the rest and had sat down with a book. When Mariah and her clique had shown up, she had half expected them to just ignore her. But that had been hoping for too much. Theirs had been a relationship of rivalry since the moment they had first met, and Mariah Janus did not like to be second at anything. She never did get used to being second to Hermione in every subject. Even if Hermione was miles behind Mariah in sports and, in both girls’ opinions, in looks, Mariah never missed an opportunity to one-up Hermione Granger. 

“Oh, Hermy Germy, look at you with your nose in a book!” Mariah had exclaimed, in a falsely sweet voice, as she sat down next to Hermione. 

She was a stunning girl. She and Hermione actually looked similar in many ways; curly brown hair, petite, fair complexion, and dark eyes. Except that Mariah’s appearance was more refined. Her curly brown hair was in beautiful, smooth spirals, without a fly-away or snarl to be found. And, although, both young women were petite, Mariah had curves and a pouty mouth. Mariah’s fair complexion was free of any freckles and her eyebrows were in a perfect, curved arch. Hermione tried not to feel insecure next to her old classmate, but the feeling of not being good enough crept into her throat when she tried to swallow.

Hermione cringed, but quickly masked her irritation at the girl’s voice. She knew Mariah was trying to get a rise out of her and had no desire to let the girl see how much the _innocent_ nickname still bothered Hermione after so many years. Before she could respond, Mariah continued.

“What are you reading? Something truly boring, I imagine.” Grabbing the book from Hermione’s lap, she read the title displayed on the front cover, _The Birth of Merlin_, and began to laugh. “Are you actually reading the play they are about to perform? Do you have to read about everything, Germy?”

Hermione seized the book from Mariah’s hand and placed it in her bag before the other girl began to flip through its pages. In fact, it was only a coincidence that the book had a similar title. She was reading a historical tome on the magician as a bit of light reading over the summer. “You know me, Mariah. I always like to be prepared,” she answered, biting back the retort that the titles didn’t even match exactly.

Mariah was looking Hermione up and down. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “It doesn’t appear as if you have changed at all.” The mocking note to her words was unmistakable.  
Hermione gave a tight smile as two of the girls that had sat down with Mariah turned their heads, trying to hide their laughter. Like Mariah, they were both curvy and beautiful. 

“Oh! How rude of me, Germy! Let me introduce you to some of my friends from Henrietta Barnett.” Another dig, Hermione knew. She and Mariah had often discussed getting into the prestigious school. Mariah turned and gestured to the two laughing girls who quickly sobered and smiled at Hermione. “Faye and Claire, this is Hermione. And behind us are Amy, Lisa and Matthew. Matthew goes to UCS.” Mariah suddenly looked past the small group and smiled brightly as she lifted her arm up in a wave and flung her hair behind her. “And I am sure you remember Andrew,” Mariah added, her voice having taken a bit of an edge to it. “My boyfriend, Andrew.”

Hermione turned to watch Andrew Robinson gracefully walk towards them. He was tall and lean with wheat colored hair. Hermione tried to keep her face neutral. This boy had been her first everything. Her first friend. Her first crush. The first person to kiss her, to insult her, to play tricks on her. His eyes flickered when he looked at her and then his lips twitched as if he was trying not to grin. In that moment he resembled Malfoy so clearly that she found her strength again and smirked at him before turning her head towards the stage. She almost chuckled at herself, realizing that she was allowing these unimportant people to make her feel small. She quickly imagined a dozen different hexes she could throw their way before turning back to look at both Mariah and Andrew. 

Had Hermione had the opportunity to see herself in that moment, she may not have felt so insecure. While her hair lacked the beauty shop spiral of Mariah’s, her wild curls suited her natural face. And while her frame was slender, she held herself in such a way that spoke of hidden strength. Facing down trolls, basilisks, werewolves, and old hags who wore too much pink had given her that easy look of confidence. Had Hermione viewed herself from another’s eyes, she may have realized that Mariah’s countenance was due to her own insecurity. And had Hermione not been feeling so out of place, she may have noticed that Andrew was looking at her with a bit too much intensity. Unfortunately, for Hermione, it was Mariah who saw Andrew’s stare.

“It’s been awhile,” Andrew said, sitting down in the row in front of them. 

Hermione looked at him and tried to set aside her memories of his past offenses. He used to live in the house across the street and his mother watched her during the days while both of Hermione’s parents worked. She and Andrew had been inseparable until he had started primary school a year before her. He made so many friends while she struggled to make any when she started the following year. Initially, he was her protector. And then one day, her bossy attitude was too much for him. She could see it clearly now that she was older, but at the time she had cried for days because he had stopped playing with her for no reason. It still hurt to remember how easy it was for him when he found that taunting the bookworm who didn’t fit in gave him a bit more popularity. In the two years leading up to when she would have been starting at Henrietta Barnett, he had seemed to want to be friends again. There she was, a little nine-year-old, trusting the boy who had thrown mud in her hair the year before. They had a timid sort of friendship, but it was slowly finding a solid footing and Hermione had developed her first crush. But then Professor McGonagall was at her door and everything changed. 

Hermione looked at him and went for the jab. “I can’t even remember the last time we saw each other,” she said, keeping her tone light and watching for his reaction. It was subtle, but it was there. His eyes narrowed for just a moment before he seemed to realize she was lying. 

And she was definitely lying. She had seen him just last summer while shopping in Temple Fortune when he had called out to her by name. She hadn’t recognized him at first; he had grown so much taller and lost all traces of his babyface. But as soon as she saw him her crush came crashing back down on her. He had seemed so genuinely happy to see her and had embraced her tightly. They had not seen each other since the summer before she started at Hogwarts. His family had moved away from London the following year, but had apparently decided to move back. She and Andrew had sat down for tea and chatted for hours. He had reminded her of their happier times as children, skirting over his bad behavior as if it was just a passing moment of poor judgement and not years of laughing at her with his friends. He even confessed that she had been his first kiss, and made her promise that she never think of their bumbling curiosity in the sandbox as anything else. And then he was walking her home, holding her hand, and asked to take her to the cinema the following evening. 

“Must be keeping pretty busy at that fancy school of yours, then.” He replied, his expression laughing at her.  
“Oh, yes,” Mariah interrupted. “What is it called again? I still can’t believe you gave up going to Henrietta Barton for a school no one has ever heard of.”  
Hermione smiled, not in the least bit phased. “Hogwarts. An unusual name, but admission is by invitation only. My parents were obviously quite impressed to have let me attend.”  
“I am sure, Germy. It must be fabulous. It will open so many doors for you in the future and that is why there is no information about it anywhere,” Mariah said snidely, smiling sideways at her friends.   
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes but it was Andrew who spoke up. “Come on, Mariah.” His voice had an amused sound to it. “We all know how smart Hermione is. She has always been smart and it always set her apart.” The look on Andrew’s face was one of fondness and he winked at Hermione.  
  
Hermione wanted to smile, but the memories of last summer held her back. He had picked her up to take her to the show and her parents had been so pleased to see him. How their feelings for him changed when she had returned home alone and crying and her father threatened to find him and give him a beating.  
“Yes,” said Mariah. “She has always been different. I am just curious if this school is for academia or if it is some sort of mental institution.”  
“Merlin, Mariah, how old are you?” Hermione snarled.   
Behind her she heard Amy whisper _“Did she just say Merlin?”_ and cringed at her slipup.   
“That was out of line, Mariah," said Andrew.   
Hermione turned towards him and glared. “Why are you defending me, Andrew Robinson. Just what are you up to this time?”

Memories of his mouth on hers, kissing her sweetly outside the cinema. Of his taking her hand as he walked her back to his moped. The ride up to Big Wood. His assurance it was just a bit of snogging. Of his hands on her chest. And then her shirt was over her head and there was a flash of light just past some bushes and so much laughter. Boys laughing and pointing and Andrew beside her, joining in. 

“Welcome to the Brookland Theatre troupe’s night of theater and magic!” bellowed a juggler, bringing Hermione back to her current surroundings. The expression on Andrew’s face was unreadable and Hermione found herself laughing. Why was she in this situation? It was ridiculous.

“You all are so not worth my time,” she said mostly to herslef, trying to catch her breath in the midst of her laughter, and stood to leave. She was irritated with herself that she had even bothered to try socializing with Mariah and her brood.  
  
“Don’t laugh at me, you minger!” Mariah hissed, her voice a whisper as she tried to avoid a scene while the play was starting. “You’re just leaving because you don’t want to talk about the fact you didn’t get into your dream school and were so embarrassed you ran away to a boarding school.” The beautiful girl’s face was scrunched and red. “Just tell us where you’re really off to during the school year, Germy.”  
“Why do you care so much, Mariah?” Hermione asked quietly, genuinely confused by the question, while at the same time Andrew blurted, “Stop calling her Germy, Mariah.”

Hermione stared at him, not trusting his motivations. Reminding herself that she didn’t care about these people at all, she started stepping down to Andrew’s level in order to leave, but he seemed to misunderstand her actions and reached to take her to his side. Mariah stood up and stomped her foot while Hermione twisted away from his reach and shook her head at him. “I don’t trust you, Andrew. I need you to leave me alone.” She exhaled and found she couldn’t wait to get off to the Burrow the day after next. “I am sorry this is our last memory,” she continued, looking back and forth between Mariah and Andrew as she tried to find a way to graciously leave the situation so her mother wouldn’t get wind of another fall out with her best friend’s daughter, “but I don’t think I want to make any new ones with either of you.” Hermione quickly adjusted her bag and began working her way out of the seating area, apologizing as she trampled the feet of some of the other people there.

Mariah moved down to Andrew’s level and reached for his hand and her frustrated voice carried to Hermione. “Don’t you dare go after her. I still don’t know why you wanted to see her tonight. I should never have told you she would be here.”   
Hermione quickened her pace, but Mariah looked towards her retreating form and yelled “Her parents sent her away to that _school_ because even they can’t stand her! She’s horrible!”

“Hey!” someone yelled from further down the row of seats. “Will you shut your trap, or take your snotty voice somewhere else.” His comments were met with encouraging noises from the crowd.   
Mariah blushed and sat down in the seat next to Andrew’s, but he pulled his hand from hers and followed after Hermione.   
“I’ll be right back,” he called back at Mariah.  
Mariah was shaking her head and started to rise again, but Faye grabbed her arm and Matthew pushed her shoulder down and mumbled something in her ear. Mariah let out a frustrated huff, but remained seated.

Hermione had moved quickly down to the ground and was already walking the path that led from the arena when she heard Andrew call her name. There was no escaping him as he knew where she lived and it was more than apparent that he was determined to talk. Hermione envisioned making it further into the trees and pulling her wand on him, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. She stopped suddenly and turned around to witness Andrew stumble to keep from colliding into her. 

“Hermione,” he breathed out.   
She simply raised her eyebrow at him, wishing it were shaped more like Mariah’s or Pansy Parkinson’s, and waited for him to continue.  
“Last summer wasn’t what you think it was,” he started.   
Hermione huffed and turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist.  
“Let me go!” she yelled.  
“Please hear me out, Mione,” he pleaded while releasing his grasp.  
“Why should I?”  
“Because I didn’t know they were there! I know I shouldn’t have laughed, but it was a knee jerk reaction.”  
“I don’t believe you, Andrew.”  
“But it’s the truth!” he exclaimed. As if sensing her hesitation, he added “The camera didn’t even have film in it.”  
She remembered the flash from the bushes again and her mortification at being exposed to the four laughing boys. “Then why did they have it? Why were they up there at all at that time of night? A group of boys, there? Why are you lying to me?” Hermione’s frustration was evident in her questions.  
“Why won’t you believe me?” He countered.

Hermione stopped and found herself pondering his question. And the answer was so simple. “Because you don’t act like a friend should, Andrew. You come to my rescue but then push me down later. It’s just like primary school. You would be mean and then feel bad. It was better the years you would just ignore me after laughing at me, or mocking me, or tripping me. I was foolish to believe you last summer. Even before I left for Hogwarts, you still mocked me. You still made fun of my propensity to list off facts. You still rolled your eyes if I wanted to study instead of watching the tele. This evening is just another example, Andrew. You think I didn’t notice how funny all of that was to you? You think you can just _rescue _me from uncomfortable dialogue and that will erase your cruelty? I don’t need rescuing and I don’t need you.”  
“That’s too harsh, Mione.”  
“Stop calling me that!”

Andrew seemed taken aback. “What? You mean _Mione_? So Germy is fine, but I can’t call you something that isn’t actually an insult?”  
“She isn’t hiding anything when she calls me that, Andrew. She's putting all her cards on the table so we can face each other without any doubt where we stand.”   
  
Hermione tugged her hair behind her ear and looked at the boy she had known all her life but who didn’t seem to know her at all. How could he, though? How could any of them really know why she never quite fit in. Harry and Ron were her first real friends. Whatever she had with Andrew was over the moment their world grew bigger than their two houses.   
“Why did you do it, Andrew? Please, tell me the truth as to why you took me up there?”

“I wanted to be with you, I swear. It was just chance they were there.”  
Hermione found herself wanting to believe him but accepted that it wasn’t even important. She would never be able to maintain the ties her mother wanted her to. And why should she have to? She would keep informed on the intricacies of being a muggle, but her life and her friends were not a part of this.   
“It doesn’t matter, Andrew. It really doesn’t. Just go back to your friends.”

Hermione turned away from him and continued on the path towards Heathgate, refusing to turn her head and look back at him. She felt a sadness creep into her bones the longer she walked and assumed the heartache had to do with the final curtain fall on the sad, broken friendship. It wasn’t until she moved further along the path that she realized that she was shivering. It had been such an uncomfortably hot day, but the sweat on her back was now ice cold. She stopped, noting that it had also become far too dark. And eerily quiet. Turning around she realized she could no longer hear the actors’ voices carrying down the path and there was a blanket of black in the sky. 

Hermione felt her heart sink as the panic rushed her. _Dementors._


	5. Ascension to Hell

Hermione reached into her bag for her wand, cursing at how hard it was to find anything in it. She knew she couldn’t cast a _patronus_ out in the open like this, but she wanted to have her wand in case it came to that. Just as her fingers grasped the smooth wood, a heavy body crashed into her. “Andrew!” she yelled in frustration, but when she looked up, it wasn’t his face she saw. 

“Sorry, Miss!” the man stuttered, his hands gripping her shoulders as he steadied her. “I didn’t see you there! Are you alright? Can you believe how dark it got all of a sudden?”   
“Yes,” Hermione said, keeping her hand firmly on her wand in her bag. The man was large, probably over eighteen stones, and he towered over her. How had she not heard his approach? How long had the dementors been overhead before she noticed? “This did come on suddenly,” she replied, uncertain if it were actually true. 

She moved to step around him, but he moved with her, his hands still on her shoulders. Hermione felt anxious. She didn’t know this man and there were dementors about. Was he a Death Eater? Looking at him more closely in the diminished light, she could see that his bulk was more muscle than anything and he could easily prevent her from freeing her wand if she went for it. Panic rose to her chest when he looked at her hand in her bag. 

“Whoa, there, miss. You don’t need any spray on me, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped aside hurriedly, his hands falling to his sides. “I know there’s been terrible things going on lately, but I really didn’t mean to scare you. It’s good of you to be prepared, though, what with those murders. Never can be too cautious.” He laughed nervously.

He continued to watch her hand and she continued to keep it hidden. She observed the breath leave his mouth and looked back up at the sky. It was still just a blanket of darkness, but she remembered how quickly the dementors could swarm down.   
“Was there something you needed?” she asked the man, not taking her eyes from the sky. 

He followed her gaze. “It sure is wonky weather we’ve been having.”   
She could feel him turn his gaze to her, but she refused to take her eyes off the dementors. They appeared to be moving away from the area; perhaps the laughter at the arena was too much for them.  
“I was just headed towards the tube. I really am sorry to have scared you. Will you be okay to make it home? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  
  
“I’m fine,” she said. But she wasn’t. This situation had scared her and from the look on his face, he could tell she was frightened. She plastered a smile on her face. “I don’t live far from here; my parents are expecting me.”  
The man nodded. “If you’re sure. It does seem as though that front is moving along. Such strange weather.” He looked at her again before shrugging his shoulders and heading on his way.

She continued home, her pace quickening until she began to run. Hermione knew that the dementors had been prone to infiltrating the city, but what about Death Eaters? She had always assumed that they would just stay away from muggles. Her anxiety wasn’t easing as she ran home. What would happen to her parents if Death Eaters really did come looking for her? Sure, she had the occasional fear of that happening, but everyone had always been so focused on Harry. What if they came after her to get to him? Would her parents qualify as a target? Would the Death Eaters risk the danger of the muggle world just to get at her? Just to show Harry they could?

Her house had just come into view when she saw the front door swing open and her father rush out. Mrs. Janus and her mother were right behind him. “Hermione!” he called out to her.  
He pulled her into a hug when she reached them. “We didn’t know, honey. We had no idea that he was going to be there.”

Hermione was momentarily confused before she realized that he was talking about Andrew. Mrs. Janus was wringing her hands and looking uneasy.   
“It’s okay,” she rasped out, tired from running. “He apologized. Said it was all just a misunderstanding. They just happened to be there and there wasn’t even any film in the camera.”  
Her father growled. “I saw the photograph, there is no misunderstanding.”

Hermione felt her heart sink. He had been lying. She had known it on some level, but had settled into the comfortable denial so she could hold onto some happy memories of her long-ago friend.   
“Oh.” She said in a small voice. “Oh!” Her father had seen her taking her shirt off for Andrew!  
“That plonker was smiling at the camera.”

She looked over at Mrs. Janus, her embarrassment on her face.   
“He seems like such a nice boy, Hermione,” Mrs. Janus put in. “I would never have imagined he could have done such a thing and I understand how he fooled you. He fooled me and Mariah. I am off to go get her now. I won’t tell her it was you.” She awkwardly pulled Hermione into an embrace and hurried away.   
Hermione knew Mariah would put it all together, but somehow wasn’t worried she would spread it around. Mariah had her limits. She may even take care of Andrew for her.

“How many people have seen the photograph?” she asked, looking at her parents.   
Her father guided her into the house. “Just me and your mum.”  
She jerked her face up to her father’s gaze. “What did you do?” she asked as she sat down at the kitchen table.   
Her mother started making tea and her father sat beside her.  
  
He laughed bitterly before explaining. “I went straight to his house after your mother got you to sleep. Woke his parents up. Those idiots were having a sleep-over there. I explained the situation to his father and he took care of the beating for me.” He looked down at Hermione and sighed. “I wasn’t going to have the film developed, but I had to make sure they didn’t switch it.”  
Hermione nodded her head. It was over. He had changed her nappies and he had seen her in bathing suits. What did it matter?   
Her mother placed a cup of tea in front of her and sat down at the table. “There were other pictures, dear. They took turns posing with different girls.”  
Hermione felt ill. 

“Hermione, honey” her father questioned. “If you weren’t upset with him, why were you running home looking so frightened?”

Hermione swallowed hard. She had warned her parents that there were sinister aspects to the magical community, but she hadn’t given them all the details about her experiences at Hogwarts. Namely, her direct involvement in stalling Voldemort. Her instinct was to just gloss over the issues again, but her fears for their safety lingered.

Her fingers traced the scar across her chest from the battle at the ministry. She looked at her parents and felt foolish. They had known she was keeping secrets; they had never truly accepted her explanation that her scar was due to an accident during DADA. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. This was a turning point and they all knew it. Her mother reached across the table and touched her hand and Hermione felt tears escape her eyes and trickle towards her mouth. 

“I was already flustered after Andrew confronted me. I hadn’t been paying enough attention to my surroundings and I know better than that!” Hermione took a breath, trying to calm herself. “I told you last summer about dementors.”   
She watched her parents nod.   
“And you’ve explained that they are the cause of this peculiar cold front,” her mother answered.  
“Yes, well, they were overhead when I was walking home and gave me a bit of a scare. A man literally ran into me and I realized that if he were a Death Eater I would have been in grave trouble.” She expected them to scoff at a Death Eater being in Little Wood, but they were just looking at her.

So, she looked back at them. Really looked at them. And she knew they were waiting for her to tell them everything. Another tear fell. She knew her parents well enough to know they would not want her to go back to Hogwarts after she told them everything. But they knew she was hiding things and their trust in her would only go so far.

“Voldemort has been coming after Harry every year at Hogwarts and I have been there to help Harry in pretty much every situation.”   
They didn’t look surprised.  
“Second year, when I was frozen at the school hospital, it wasn’t because of a potion’s accident.”   
Her father raised his eyebrow; her mother’s lips were pursed.   
She pushed forward. “I had been petrified by a basilisk.” 

She considered leaving it at that, but she wanted them to understand what her life was like. “The basilisk had been set loose on the school by Ginny. It was supposed to kill all muggle-borns, but was a bit bad at the job.” Hermione snorted quietly.  
  
“Ginny Weasley?” her mother cried, shocked.  
Hermione rushed to explain. “She was possessed by Voldemort through a curse he placed on his old diary!” Hermione clarified. “She didn’t do it on purpose. Both she and Harry almost died because of it.”  
  
“So did you.” Her father said coldly. “Go on, Hermione. What else have you and this school been keeping from us?”

Hermione swallowed. “Dementors attacked Harry’s godfather while Harry and I were eluding a werewolf in third year. Harry saved Sirius, but we couldn’t prove he was innocent of murder so we helped him escape the ministry. Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff who died in that horrible accident during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, was actually murdered at Voldemort’s demand. One of Voldemort’s followers put Harry in the tournament so he could kidnap him and use his blood to bring Voldemort back from the dead.”  
  
Elaine Granger sucked in air and her father clenched his jaw. Hermione, looking at his face, flinched from his anger. Of course he was angry. The school that her parents trusted with her wellbeing hadn’t communicated about what was happening there. And Hermione had taken advantage of the fact that muggle-born families were at a severe disadvantage about knowing what was happening in the wizarding world. 

“What else, Hermione?” he gritted out.   
Hermione felt shame. “Last year, Harry’s godfather was murdered by a Death Eater at an incident at the Ministry of Magic.” Hermione choked back a sob, remembering Harry’s pale face.   
Her mother looked at the hand Hermione had placed back over her chest. “That is where you got that, isn’t it, Hermione Jean!” her mother cried. “What were you doing at the Ministry of Magic?”  
Hermione's father, however, knew his daughter very well. “She has to go back a bit, dear. Just look at her. She left out something else.”

Hermione had always treasured her close relationship with her father. She was, and always would be, a Daddy’s Girl. In this moment she didn’t want to confess everything anymore. But she wouldn't deny him the truth. “I coerced Harry into starting a fighting club against school rules, cursed a girl to disfigure her face until she does four selfless acts and tricked Professor Umbridge into the woods so she would be captured by centaurs.”   
  
“Why was she at the ministry, though!” interrupted Elaine.   
Her father shook his head, seeming suddenly exhausted. “Fighting Death Eaters and helping Harry, of course," he said. 

He looked at Hermione. “What has you so scared that you would confess all of this now?” he asked, his tone a mixture of harsh and bewildered.  
  
“I realized tonight that the Death Eaters may use me to get at Harry. But while I am safe at Hogwarts, they may come after you instead.”  
  
“Safe at Hogwarts!?!” her mother exclaimed, incredulous.  
Hermione's father watched his wife and nodded his head before turning to his daughter. “You were never safe at Hogwarts. You will not be going back there.”  
  
“No!” Hermione cried out. “No, you can’t do that! I need to be there. I need to help Harry and keep getting stronger at magic! Harry needs me! I can’t leave that world, daddy! I am a witch; I belong there!”  
  
Her father grunted. “You are not a –” He stopped short and looked at her, aware of how wrong his words would have been.  
  
Hermione jumped at his silence. “I will be going to the Burrow the day after tomorrow. So tomorrow we should look at your finances and figure out a plan for you to leave the country just for a short while. Maybe just a few years.”  
  
“No.” her parents said in unison.   
“We will all be leaving the country for a few years, Hermione,” her mother said. “You will not be going back to that place. We can enroll you in another school and you will easily catch up on your studies.”  
  
“NO!” Hermione yelled, rising from her chair so quickly, it fell backwards. “Look around you! There is nowhere to hide from magic! That bridge collapse was Voldemort’s doing! How many people died from that?”  
  
“So why would we leave without you if nowhere is safe!” Her father yelled back. “Why would we abandon you, our lives, if nowhere is safe?” He was breathing heavily. “Hermione, I know that you are a witch. I know I will never understand that world, but we are all staying together. Either here in London or abroad.   
Her mother interrupted him. "Abroad," she said. “We know they've found magic here before.”

Hermione stopped as her mother’s words registered in her ears. _We know they've found magic here before._   
She looked at her mother, whose eyes had grown large, and then to her father who had bowed his head into his hands. Hermione’s world began to spin. She was too emotionally charged. She felt the magic radiating out of her body and around the room and heard her parents shout out in surprise. And suddenly her mind was full of images.

_Hermione’s mother was in a hospital bed, cradling a tiny baby. Her father was by the side of the bed and a man, who looked a great deal like her father was just behind him. “Our girls are going to be getting into trouble together in no time,” he had said to her parents, a broad smile on his face._

_The man was there with her father in their back yard while a little girl was skipping around a blanket on the lawn. Hermione’s mother sat on the blanket, a newborn infant cradled in her arms. “It will only be for a short while, I promise. She just up and left us! How could she leave her daughter? She kept going on and on about how Iris scared her. She is just a little girl!”  
_ _“It could be depression. Did she say where she was going?” Hermione’s father asked.  
_ _“No, she just left a Dear John and Iris locked in her closet.”_

_A small casket was being lowered into the ground. Hermione’s father was holding the other man as he openly wept. Hermione, about two years old, was crying in her mother’s arms. Hermione could hear her child self, whimpering “I want Iris, mommy. Where is Iris?”_

_The man was at their dining room table, looking at Hermione out the window as she sat on the swing reading a brightly colored book. She looked to be about eight years old.  
_ _“Are you sure you don’t want to say hello to her?” her father asked him.  
_ _The man shook his head. “I know you think I am crazy, but they murdered Iris.”  
_ _Hermione’s father sighed. “I don’t know what you saw, Robert, but lightning coming out of a twig is a bit hard to grasp. I am afraid the trauma of the situation played with your memories. The hospital said her heart just stopped.”  
_ _“You don’t understand! There were three of them in black robes and silver masks! They said she was unclean and had stolen her magic! They shot lightning at me and when I woke up she was dead!”_

_Her father was on the phone. “This Professor calls them Death Eaters. She says there was a war going on when Iris was killed. It was a hate crime, Robert. Iris would have likely gone to this school and been just a few years ahead of Hermione. Actual magic runs in our blood.”_

“What did you just do?” her mother rasped, rubbing her temples.   
Hermione fell to her knees. “Iris,” she whimpered. “How could I have ever forgotten about her?”  
Hermione’s father knelt down beside her. “You were just a little girl, Hermione. No one expected you to remember.”  
  
“What just happened?” Elaine questioned.  
  
But Hermione didn't hear her. “And Uncle Robert? Your brother?”  
“My brother,” her father agreed. “Apparently magic does run on our side of the family.”  
  
“What just happened!” Elaine shrieked.

Hermione looked at her mother. “I think I just used accidental magic. I must have done some sort of legilimency on you. It's a form of magic that allows a person to –” she stumbled over her words. “Allows me to see your memories,” she finished.  
  
“You are not going back to that school!” her mother raged. “She just used magic on us!” she looked over at Hermione, her face a collage of anger, distress and fear. “We are leaving tonight, Walt.”  
  
“No! I won’t go! I’ll go to the Burrow! I won’t go with you!”  
  
“Elaine! Hermione! Stop!” her father shouted. He was shaking, but remained on the floor with his daughter.

Her heart hurt to see them like this, but Hermione would not stop. “Can’t you see I don’t belong in this world?” She saw her mother crumple into tears. “I am sorry, mum, I am so sorry! But I am a witch. At Hogwarts I have friends. I have real friends who see me for who I am. And they may tease me, but it’s not the backstabbing like I have here. I have never felt quite right with other people. My instincts were always wrong. I will never catch up if you put me in some muggle school! I know that nowhere is safe, but I need you to do this! I need you to go somewhere without me and without your names! Start over, temporarily. I need you to be safe because I love you, but Harry and Ron are my family, too!”  
Elaine was shaking her head, opening her mouth to speak, but Hermione kept going “I love you!” she cried. “I love you, but I can’t run away from who I am.”

Walt Granger cursed quietly and rose from the floor. His eyes were wet and he stared at the two most important people in his life. “Go to your room, Hermione,” he said softly.   
Hermione shook her head, but her father went on. “We all need to calm down. We are all going to sleep on this and discuss again in the morning. Your room, now, Hermione.” He looked at her fiercely. “And, please, don’t run off in the night. We will all come to an agreement in the morning.”

Hermione sluggishly got up and looked at her parents before turning towards the hallway and walking to the stairs. As she slowly ascended, feeling as though each step up took her further down to her own personal hell, she planned on what she would be packing. Her trunk was far too large to easily maneuver, but was the only option she had. She knew how to get the Knight Bus and Mrs. Weasley would understand her need to stay in the magical community.

_And, please, don’t run off in the night._

His words danced around in her thoughts and she threw herself on to her bed and wept. Her thoughts were racing. Iris. Her uncle. Hogwarts. Andrew and Mariah. The cold from the dementors. Camera flashes. Her parents. Harry. Ron. Even Luna Lovegood. Godric, she would even miss Luna if she never went back! What happened downstairs – how had she performed magic like that? If she could do that accidently, what could she do on purpose?

Before she could change her mind. Before she could even allow herself to process what it was she was actually thinking of doing, she made her way down the stairs. Her suspicions proved true as she heard the soft murmur of her parents talking in the kitchen. 

Her bag was still on the table in the entryway where she had discarded it when her father had ushered her into the house. She pulled her wand and made her way to the kitchen. Pieces of their conversation floated to her.

“He managed to hide himself from them, Elaine. He can help us do the same.”  
“What if she has more bouts of that accidental magic? I still can’t believe she used magic against us, Walt, even if it wasn’t on purpose. Could it happen in public?”

Hermione knew she had to act now. Thinking of the spell she had read about numerous times since second year, she quickly entered the kitchen, her wand raised. 

_"Obliviate!"_

* * *

The next morning found the Granger family enjoying breakfast together at the kitchen table. Soft sunlight was shining through the kitchen window and Hermione sipped her juice. 

“Hermione, dear,” her mother said, while smiling in her direction. “While we are at the bank today, did you want to go shopping for any reading materials before you leave for the Burrow tomorrow?”  
Hermione nodded, smiling at the mention of going to the bank. Her parents had informed her they wanted to make sure she could take care of their accounts should anything happen to them. “That would be lovely, mum. I think I'll go to my room and relax for a bit before we head out, if that's okay?”  
  
Her father looked at her quizzically, but nodded his head. “Don’t be gone too long, he said. We have a lot to go over before you leave.”  
She smiled and nodded. Guilt was raging within her and she needed a moment away from their unknowing, smiling faces. It was all for the best, she knew, but the gravity of her actions weighed on her.

When she opened the door to her room, she saw a tiny barn owl waiting, a parchment attached to its leg. The Ministry of Magic seal was clearly visible. Hermione knew she should not have been surprised. Two bursts of magic by an underage witch would hardly go unnoticed. Skimming the note, she felt her shoulders relax. Her reputation as a goody-goody had its benefits. 

The ministry had noted her two bursts of _accidental_ magic and informed her she would be meeting with her head of house to discuss the issue upon her return to Hogwarts. She had time to come up with a plausible excuse. Her parents no longer remembered her confessions and they would be withdrawing funds on a regular basis in case they needed to leave urgently. It was worth it to keep them safe.

It was all worth it, Hermione told herself again, as her mother’s startled words rang through her head.

_She used magic against us!_


	6. More Than Meets the Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _Spinner's End_, the second chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.

Damn her sister, Narcissa thought as she heard Bella calling after her. The river bank she had apparated to was slippery, and Narcissa trudged her way up, avoiding the dirty water and making her way to the old railings that marked where the cobbled street began.   
“Cissy – Narcissa – listen to me—” Bellatrix ordered as she seized her arm, but Narcissa wrenched it away.  
“Go back, Bella!”  
“You _must_ listen to me!”  
“I’ve listened already,” Narcissa snarled back at her sister. She felt a tension behind her eyes and her vision was becoming blurry. “I’ve made my decision,” Narcissa cried, as a ringing sound started in her ears. “Leave me alone!”  
Bellatrix continued to follow, raging about muggle neighborhoods, as Narcissa slipped through a gap in the railing and made her way to the ramshackle houses.   
“Cissy, _wait_!” Bellatrix called out again, her tone commanding, but Narcissa continued to run from her. The ringing in her ears grew sharper at Bella’s words and Narcissa felt nausea curl. She slowed, clutching her stomach, and Bellatrix grabbed her arm once more, swinging her around to face her.   
“Cissy, you must not do this, you can’t trust him—”  
“The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn’t he?” Narcissa panted, slowly edging her way from her sister.  
“The Dark Lord is… I believe… mistaken.” Narcissa could see how much it pained her sister to speak those words.   
“In any case,” Bellatrix went on, “we were told not to speak of the plan to anyone. This is a betrayal of the Dark Lord’s—”  
“Let go, Bella!” shouted Narcissa, and she drew her wand from beneath her cloak, holding it threateningly in front of her sister. Bella merely laughed.   
“Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn’t—”  
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do anymore!” Narcissa’s voice was laced with hysteria. She pulled her wand across Bellatrix’s throat as if brandishing a dagger. A flash of light engulfed the women and Narcissa crumpled before righting herself and rushing away. 

Bellatrix, who had lost her grip on her sister’s arm, watched her continue towards the home of, she assumed, Severus Snape. She was surprised by her sister’s violence, if not by her failure to hurt her.  
“_Narcissa_!” she screeched, but allowed her sister some distance ahead. Bellatrix was not pleased with her sister’s disobedience. She crept slowly behind the other woman, observing her obvious distress and focusing intently on making Narcissa submit.   
Bellatrix began whispering the soothing words she had made up as a child and that she had sung when dancing in the woods around their family home, making her way up the stoop to stand with her sister outside the door of the very last house on Spinner’s End. 

The door opened a small degree and Severus Snape peered out at the two women. Narcissa, realizing her face was concealed, threw back her hood.  
“Narcissa! What a pleasant surprise!”” he said as he opened his door wider.   
“Severus,” she whispered, her ears still ringing and the pain from her failed attempt to curse her sister still ravishing her body. “May I speak with you? It’s urgent.”  
“But of course.” 

Severus Snape allowed Narcissa into his home, recognizing the hooded figure behind her as her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. He mentally prepared himself for the stabbing attack on his psyche and was not disappointed. Her non-verbal magic, though weak in matters of legilimency, was still an irritation.   
“Snape,” the hooded witch bit out, her frustration apparent in her movements.  
“Bellatrix.”  
Snape ushered Narcissa to the sofa in his small sitting area and, aside from a sardonic smile in her direction, ignored Bellatrix who remained standing. As he looked at Narcissa, he couldn’t help but notice her normally pale skin was almost translucent. Her form was hunched in on itself as if she were in pain and, to his dismay, he noticed that a small trickle of blood was pooling out of her right ear. From all appearances, the woman had just been tortured.  
“So, what can I do for you?” he asked her, keeping his demeanor neutral. 

Narcissa scanned the room before looking back to Severus. “We… we are alone, aren’t we?”  
“Yes, of course. Well, Wormtails’ here, but we’re not counting vermin, are we?”  
She watched as Severus lifted his wand, and with a subtle twist of his wrist, opened a secret passage behind his wall. Peter Pettigrew stood frozen on the stairs of the passage.   
“As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests,” she heard Severus enunciate slowly.  
She considered Pettigrew’s presence as he skulked down the stairs and into the room. She had been relieved that he was no longer her shadow at the manor, but could not be certain if he had been sent off to Spinner’s End as his punishment, or Severus’s. Whether or not he was sent here to spy, she had no doubt that he was doing just that.  
Narcissa tuned out the bemoaning voice of Pettigrew while he quivered and squeaked before Severus, causing her to jump slightly at a rather loud banging from the room the mousy man had scuttled off to. She determined that she would go on with her plan. She had already suffered greatly in going against Bellatrix, and as she had recently determined, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her son.   
Pettigrew returned to the room, carrying goblets of elf-made wine on a nickel platter. He placed the tray on the table in front of the sofa and retreated back to the passage behind the wall of books. Narcissa bit her lip to keep from laughing at the wretch. She had no doubt he had wanted desperately to stick his tongue out at the lot of them.   
At Severus’s salute to the Dark Lord, she lifted her glass and swallowed the sweet liquid quickly. Her distaste had nothing to do with the flavor.  
“Severus, I’m sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me—”  
She stopped at Severus’s raised hand and watched as he pointed his wand at the concealed passage. With another quick twist of his wrist, there was a loud bang, followed by a pathetic squeal form the other side of the wall and the muffled sounds of scampering feet up stairs.  
“My apologies,” said Severus. “He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don’t know what he means by it... You were saying, Narcissa?”  
Narcissa cringed. Pettigrew was spying for the Dark Lord, of course, who would certainly be made aware of her visit here. “Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but—” 

“Then you ought to hold your tongue!” snarled Bellatrix. “Particularly in present company!”  
Bellatrix could not let this continue. That Narcissa was fighting through her pain was confounding, but her pathetic sister was killing herself to pass on her master’s secrets to this filthy half-breed and she was not willing to lose such a valuable asset as Narcissa Malfoy.   
“‘Present company’? And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?”  
“That I don’t trust you, Snape, as you very well know!” she growled.  
She found herself distracted by her sister who was covering her face with her hands and making choking noises. She felt content. Let her suffer, the fool. It was the least she deserved for defying her.  
“Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix.”  
The filthy, half wizard was looking smug and it grated on Bellatrix.   
“Why is it that you do not trust me?” he said with a smirk, lounging lazily in his shabby chair.   
Fury bubbled within her and she glared. “A hundred reasons!” she fumed. The audacity of this foul man. 

Narcissa still clutched her face in her hands while Bella ranted at Severus. She did not have time for this petty back and forth between the two contending Death Eaters. She felt her strength depleting as Bellatrix raged, so she continued to breathe slowly. She should take advantage of her sister’s fury at Severus. If she could keep Bella focused on her frenzy regarding Severus’ questionable loyalties, she may forget her objections to their being there and give Narcissa the relief she needed to get her message to Severus.   
Narcissa half listened as she plotted how to gain access to Severus’s mind. He was a master at occlumency and she would never stand a chance unless he let her in. She knew he suspected her skill at legilimency, but he had no way of knowing how talented she really was. If she could just penetrate the surface of his mind, she should be able to get him to understand what she was doing. But Bellatrix could not know!  
“My information has been conveyed directly to the Dark Lord,” Snape’s voice cut into Narcissa’s thoughts. “If he chooses not to share it with you—”  
Narcissa struggled to keep her face passive, knowing that Severus had hit the mark.  
“He shares everything with me!” Bellatrix argued. “He calls me his most loyal, his most faithful—”  
“Does he?” said Snape, disbelief dancing in his tone.   
Narcissa smirked behind her hands.  
“Does he still,” Snape continued, “after the fiasco at the Ministry?”  
“That was not my fault!” Bellatrix howled, embarrassment coloring her face. “The Dark Lord has, in the past, entrusted me with his most precious—if Lucius hadn’t—”  
Narcissa felt her irritation rise up again. “Don’t you dare—don’t you dare blame my husband!” she said, looking at her sister, her tone brittle. It was these accusations that had ignited Draco’s foolish desire to restore their family name.  
“There is no point apportioning blame,” Snape cut in. “What is done, is done.”  
The two continued their verbal battle and Narcissa continued her deep breathing. Severus was making a very good argument as to why Bella should trust him. Unfortunately, it was a very good argument as to why Narcissa should not.  
Narcissa realized that Bella had grown silent. Looking up, she found Severus looking at her.  
“Now... you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?”  
“Yes, Severus. I—I think you are the only one who can help me, I have nowhere else to turn. Lucius is in jail and...”  
As their eyes met, Narcissa attempted to touch his surface thoughts with her own, but his magic smacked her away. She closed her eyes and felt moisture seep out of her eyes; tears she hoped, or she was in worse shape than she had realized.  
“The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it,” Narcissa continued, her eyes still closed. She had to try again; to keep trying until he let her in. “He wishes none to know of the plan. It is… very secret. But—”  
“If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak,” Severus interrupted. “The Dark Lord’s word is law.”  
Bellatrix made a small noise of triumph and Narcissa recoiled.   
“There!” Bellatrix squealed. “Even Snape says so: You were told not to talk, so hold your silence!” 

Snape rose from his seat and went to the small window to look out onto the street. Satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, he quickly pulled the curtains closed. He had felt the gentle nudges against his occlumency walls and had been unsettled. Narcissa had never attempted to penetrate his mind before. He turned to Narcissa and, opening his mind minutely, nudged her back.  
It took all of his strength not to stagger back at the information flooding his mind. He had never experienced such a thing before. In all of his years, he had only ever heard of memories being shared through a pensive, but Narcissa was bombarding him with years of information.  
His disgust for Bellatrix intensified.   
“It so happens that I know of the plan,” he said, struggling to keep his mind in the present, as image after image flooded him. “I am one of the few the Dark Lord has told. Nevertheless, had I not been in on the secret, Narcissa, you would have been guilty of great treachery to the Dark Lord.”  
“You know about the plan?” said Bellatrix, disbelief apparent. “_You_ know?”  
Snape found himself thankful he was so adept at occlumency, or he was certain he would have been knocked out by the force of the magic Narcissa was wielding on his mind. As it was, he was able to force the onslaught to slow. If the Dark Lord ever learned of her capabilities… he did not want to think on that.  
“Certainly,” he said, forcing himself to stay focused on the conversation and keep Bellatrix distracted. “But what help do you require, Narcissa? If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all.” 

Suddenly the image of Draco kneeling before the Dark Lord was forefront in his mind. Narcissa was huddled off to the side of the room, slowly making her way towards her son as he assured the Dark Lord he would be able to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.   
_Draco, you dunderhead!_, he thought to himself.   
The Dark Lord had smiled callously as he informed Draco that his request to become a Death Eater was welcomed. There had been a fleeting look of terror on the boy’s face when he realized he could not refuse, but Snape noted he did not look surprised.   
Snape felt a tension he could not identify.   
And then the Dark Lord’s words reverberated in his mind, echoing from the terror in Narcissa’s.   
_“You will kill Dumbledore or you will watch your mother die as you are slowly skinned alive.”_  
Although he had known of Draco’s assignment, he had not been privy to the circumstances that led to it. Bound by oath as his godfather, Severus Snape would do all in his power to protect him.  
“Severus,” Narcissa whimpered as he looked at her tearstained, stricken face. “My son . . . my only son . . .”  
He watched her carefully as the blood from her ear began to stain her hair. He now understood her unusual hair; blonde in many places, as dark as Bellatrix’s in others. The strain of the effort she was exuding to provide him this information was worsening her already weakened state. As he watched the blood mix with her hair, he was horrified to see some of her dark strands turn white before him. 

Bellatrix seemed unphased by Narcissa’s distress. “Draco should be proud,” she offered, picking at the dirt under her fingernails. “The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor. And I will say this for Draco: He isn’t shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect—”  
Narcissa moaned, but would not look away from Severus.   
“That’s because he is sixteen and has no idea what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance for Lucius’s mistake, I know it!” 

Snape looked away. He was aware he had let his mental walls down due to the barrage of images Narcissa had thrown at him. Her intake of air confirmed she had heard his foremost thought.  
“That’s why he’s chosen Draco, isn’t it?” she said. “To punish Lucius?”  
Snape could not look at her, afraid of what else he would reveal while his mental defenses were compromised. “If Draco succeeds,” he replied, “he will be honored above all others.”  
“But he won’t succeed!” sobbed Narcissa. “How can he, when the Dark Lord himself—?”  
Bellatrix gasped; Narcissa shrank away from her sister, stumbling over her words, aware that she could not defy Bella much more.  
“I only meant… that nobody has yet succeeded… Severus… please… You are, you have always been, Draco’s favorite teacher... You are Lucius’s old friend... I beg you… You are the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor... Will you speak to him, persuade him—?”  
Snape watched in fascination as Bellatrix stared at Narcissa while she stammered. Would he have ever realized the hold she had over her sister if not for Narcissa’s curious ability? 

Narcissa felt as though her ear had shattered. She felt the moisture of the blood trickling down her neck. She had pushed herself too far and still could not determine his reaction to all that she had shared; his mask of indifference remained in place.  
“The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it,” he stated, his voice devoid of any emotion as he eyed her carefully. “I cannot pretend that the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius. Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain. Yes, the Dark Lord is angry, Narcissa, very angry indeed.”  
She felt her panic again, but he was looking at her and, taking the gamble, she sent a quick succession of his own memories back to him. It was a flicker, and perhaps she imagined it, but she swore she saw his pupils dilate at the meaning behind her message. She quickly rose from her seat and grabbed his robes, refusing to break eye contact, and sent another one of her own memories to him. Severus lashed out at her mind, whipping her mental intrusion away with a force that surprised her.   
“You could do it. You could do it instead of Draco, Severus. You would succeed, of course you would, and he would reward you beyond all of us—”  
Gripping her wrists, he gently removed her hands. Slowly, he cut her off, “He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first. You see, in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds, I shall be able to remain at Hogwarts a little longer, fulfilling my useful role as spy.”  
“In other words, it doesn’t matter to him if Draco is killed!”  
“The Dark Lord is very angry,” repeated Snape quietly. “He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily.”  
Narcissa fell to her knees, mentally berating Lucius for the mess he had made of their lives. Her mind was still reeling from the connection she had forced on Severus, but images of Draco remained forefront in her mind. “My only son… my only son…”  
“You should be proud!” her sister taunted. “If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!”  
Before she even realized she was going to, Narcissa heard herself scream as she pulled at her own hair. She hated Bella. Of course, that horrible creature would sacrifice any of her spawn; she would likely slit their throats and offer their blood in a crystal glass to her Dark Lord.   
She felt Severus’s strong hands grab her arms and guide her up and towards the sofa.   
“Narcissa, that’s enough,” he murmured while forcing her to grasp her glass of wine. “Drink this. Listen to me.”  
She tried to sip the wine, feeling drops fall on her chest and lap. She knew he was right, her body needed something as she was going into shock. Her eyes darted to Bellatrix and saw her barely contained rage. There would be hell to pay; she had pushed the boundaries too far tonight.  
“It might be possible,” Severus was saying, “for me to help Draco.”  
His words penetrated her thoughts and she felt a sense of triumph. “Severus—oh, Severus—you would help him? Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?”  
“I can try.”  
She threw the glass aside to kneel down before Severus and take his hand in both of hers and press a kiss to it. “If you are there to protect him… Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?” He was already bound by honor, she prayed he would trust her in this. In some ways, this would protect him, too.  
“The Unbreakable Vow?”  
Distantly, she heard the mocking tone of her sister’s response, but paid no head to her, Bella’s voice becoming a muffled buzz as Narcissa allowed Severus open access to her mind instead. Her blue eyes stared fixedly into his black ones and she knew he had finally seen everything.  
“Certainly, Narcissa, I shall make the Unbreakable Vow,” he said quietly and, had she not known him as she did, she would never have understood the resignation and defeat in those words. “Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder.”  
She held back the look of triumph she wanted to shoot at Bella. It was a small delight to see her sister so dumbfounded. Narcissa’s movements became automatic and she carefully planned the oath she would require. When they were all in position, she once again opened her mind to Severus so that he could understand the meaning behind every word.  
“Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes?”  
“I will,” he confirmed.  
She felt the heat of the magic begin to work as a ribbon of flame wound their hands together.  
Careful with her words, she continued, “And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?”  
“I will,” he confirmed again.  
A chain of magic had now formed around their clasped hands.  
“And, should it prove necessary… if it seems Draco will fail…” whispered Narcissa, her heart aching for her old friend who was trapped no matter the direction he turned, “will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?”  
The silence before his response weighed heavily. Bellatrix watched them and Narcissa feared for just a moment that she had finally understood what Narcissa was doing, but then Severus sent her an image. She was shocked. No one aside from Lucius had ever been able to mirror her magic, but now Severus had.   
“I will,” he said, completing the vow as the image of a baby Draco, wrapped snuggly in his ceremonial muslin and held gently in Severus Snape’s arms, floated across her mental plane. It had been the only time that the man had held her son, but there had been no question when he took the vow to be his godfather that the child was precious to him. 

The vow completed, Bellatrix tried to banish her astonishment. The second-rate wizard had surprised her, no doubt, but perhaps the half-breed was just besotted with her sister. Cissy had certainly pushed the limits of her binding, tonight. Bellatrix observed the red ring within the inside of Cissy’s nostril and realized the woman would be suffering greatly for several days, if not weeks, for this bout of disobedience.   
Bellatrix was tempted to give her sister another order she would refuse, just to see how far she could go, but she was more anxious to leave this muddy, muggle, wasteland. So, instead, she pulled her sister towards the door and eyed Snape carefully. 

Snape watched the women depart and then slowly locked the door with his wand. The magic he had encountered tonight had unsettled him. Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black, had happened across something truly frightening and he was now bound, through his bond as godfather and through the unbreakable vow made tonight, to keep the secret of her power over the Malfoys. Narcissa was a Slytherin to her core, he smiled derisively to himself. 


	7. Passing Through Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _The Half-Bood Prince_, the ninth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.
> 
> TW: brief depiction of thoughts of self harm

Draco was sweating while waiting for the new Potions’ professor to open the door to the dungeon. Even with magic, the cabinet had been a beast to move. He could only hope that it could, in fact, be paired with the one at Borgin and Burkes. That smarmy Borgin was of no use, maintaining he would have to bring the cabinet in. Draco knew that he was going to have to repair it on his own as there was little likelihood the shopkeeper could be of any help.  
As he recalled the hidden room he had secured the cabinet in, he felt an appreciation for the castle. To think that one need only think of what was needed, and it would be provided in the room.   
A place to stay hidden.  
A place to fix the cabinet.  
All around him had been piles and piles of junk. At first, he had been disappointed, thinking he had somehow made a mistake when calling up the room, but then he realized there were a lot of useful things in all those piles. The cabinet was mangled and Draco was undoubtedly going to have to use his hands in addition to his wand in order to make the necessary repairs. The thought was disconcerting, but it was a relief to know that he would be in a place where he would likely find just about anything he needed to complete the chore. It irked him that it was Potter and his fanatics that had first discovered the room, but at least he was able to use their own discoveries against them now.   
As he continued to wait, Draco observed who his classmates would be for this advanced class. Aside from his three Slytherin housemates, there were four Ravenclaws, a Puff and the mudblood, of course. However, he noted with some irritation that scar-head and weasel-rat were here, as well.   
“How did those two make it to his level?” Theo asked from beside him, but before he could reply, the door to the dungeon opened to reveal a large belly on a wide man who was motioning them to enter.   
Theo and Draco made their way to the table closest to the door, Blaize Zabini and Daphne Greengrass joining them.   
“He looks like a walrus,” Zabini murmured to the group.  
“At least not a toad,” came the quiet voice of Daphne Greengrass as she perused the room.  
Cauldrons were bubbling and there were various aromas floating in the air. Daphne was snickering to herself and Draco found he couldn’t keep himself from inquiring “What’s so funny?”  
She looked at him before replying. “Pansy would be losing her mind looking for my sister if she were in this room right now.”  
He gave her a knowing look before they were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. 

“Now then, now then, now then,” said Professor Slughorn. Through the cloud of vapors, the four Slytherins looked at their new professor. “Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don’t forget your copies of _Advanced Potion Making_…”  
“Sir?” came the grating voice of Potter. 

“Merlin, how are we going to survive with that idiot in this class?” Theo whispered to Draco. “And the weasel, too?”  
“The mudblood will deal with them,” he offered, knowing it to be true and finding his lack of concern regarding the three Gryffindors a bit unsettling.   
But then the Dark Lord’s horrid voice slithered in his thoughts.

_…You will kill Dumbledore or you will watch your mother die as you are slowly skinned alive…_

New sweat trickled down his spine as he remembered Voldemort’s threats.   
  
He heard the mudblood’s voice over the popping sounds from the cauldrons. Professor Slughorn was looking for the identification of the potions in the bubbling caldrons and the hag was, per her usual, showing off how smart she was, as if no one knew she tried so hard in order to hide the fact she didn’t belong. An uncomfortable sensation filled his chest and he fleetingly thought the dungeon was beginning to smell like her. She was such an annoyance. 

“Over-eager bookworm,” Daphne mumbled while Professor Slughorn happily praised the Gryffindor. Realizing it may sound like a defense, Draco bit his tongue to keep from telling his housemate to raise her hand if she wanted to show up the mudblood.   
“She looks half-baked with her hand up in the air all the time and her hair – I swear, it is going to attack us all one of these days,” Daphne continued.   
Theo sniggered while Zabini rolled his eyes. 

“It’s Amortentia!” piped the feminine voice again. Draco cringed; the way she enunciated her words grated on his nerves. 

“She doesn’t even try to let other people get a word in,” Theo whispered to the table. “Did you see her punch her hand into the air? What an annoying, twat.”  
“The sound of her voice, Theo, I can’t handle it,” Daphne whispered back. “Someone should put her out of her misery.”  
“I think I would miss her,” Draco said. He smirked at their expressions. “Well, laughing at her. Nothing like free entertainment. Maybe we should throw pumpkin juice at her to let her know what a fine job she’s doing?” 

“Granger? … Granger? …” Professor Slughorn asked. “Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?” his words penetrating the conversation at the Slytherin’s table.  
“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see?” 

“I wonder what this professor will think of that?” Draco asked Theo. “He likes to make connections with famous wizards and a mudblood like her could taint his collection.”   
The young men snickered together until Slughorn awarded her twenty points.  
The sinking feeling was back as he watched Granger smile at Potter. His lack of concern regarding those three was quickly fading. “I should hex her to fall into the Veritaserum and ask her how she managed to pilfer her magic.” 

He was fuming. He shouldn’t be wasting time with these classes. He should be in the room working on the cabinet, not locked in the dungeons with the mudblood and her dummies while this new professor batted his eyes at them. There wasn’t a potion around that could fix that cabinet, and Draco couldn’t think of any other way to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.   
He looked over at the scar-headed boy across the room and found himself vaguely curious as to what the Dark Lord would do to him. 

_You will kill Dumbledore or you will watch your mother die as you are slowly skinned alive…_

There wasn’t a potion that could fix the cabinet, but there was certainly one that could be made to kill the headmaster. Draco suddenly felt ill. How was he going to kill the man? Could he kill the man? 

“It’s liquid luck!” the Gryffindor girl cried out eagerly. “It makes you lucky!”  
Draco quickly looked over at Slughorn and Granger. Felix Felicis, Draco thought, excitedly. The sinking feeling was replaced by elation, his pulse racing. He would have to find a way to obtain that potion! All of his problems would be solved! He and his mother could escape. Perhaps, they could even overthrow the Dark Lord and Auntie Bella would fall off a cliff. His father would be free and the Malfoys would have their honor restored. Could it really be this easy?   
Slughorn was explaining how tricky it was to make. Draco knew this. His father had lamented that only a small number of potion masters were gifted enough to make it, let alone patient enough to do so, but as it was so addictive and dangerous very few of those masters would. Draco stared at the cauldron, plotting various ways he could steal even just a small bottle when Slughorn began speaking again.  
“And that,” the man said, “is what I shall be offering as a prize this lesson.”  
Draco felt faint. Aside from Granger, he was the best potions student here. And she had no finesse. Her work, though always technically right, missed the art in the brewing.  
He watched carefully as Slughorn showed them all a tiny bottle of the liquid luck; an amount that would last for twelve hours! His eyes flickered to the giant caldron, unable to prevent himself from imagining the possibilities. There was no way to make off with that, but the little bottle was up for grabs.  
And all he had to do was make a batch of the Draught of Living Death. 

“What are you going to do with it, Draco?” Theo questioned while Daphne looked at him. He smirked and set to work.  
He felt euphoric. Something was finally going right for him. Would he just go ahead and fix the cabinet? It was only twelve hours of luck. If he fixed the cabinet, he would still have to kill Dumbledore. What if the cabinets couldn’t pair? So, he would have to kill Dumbledore first. Maybe with a cursed object? Or a poison? No, no, no. He didn’t have to do any of that. Twelve hours was enough time to convince his mother to run away. They were going to run away. 

Slughorn was passing by his table, and already feeling pleased with his effort, he addressed the man. “Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?”  
But Slughorn didn’t even look at him. Or his potion. The lard of a man just mumbled his condolences over the patriarch’s young demise and walked away. 

“You’ll just have to earn his respect,” Daphne whispered. “No matter. Your potion is already very far along, maybe even further than Granger’s.”  
Theo nodded his head and Zabini seemed to agree. Draco briefly looked in the direction of the mudblood, but she looked to be telling Potter off about something. He had probably almost set the place on fire, the dunce. Draco completed his counterclockwise turns and found himself pleased with his results. Not perfect, but almost.   
Slughorn walked around the dungeon examining potions. When he looked at Draco’s, he finally made eye-contact with the young man and Draco was confident that, at last, he had made the man notice him. That Felix Felicis was going to be his. 

Smugly, Draco watched as Slughorn gave Granger’s potion an approving nod. He was not worried, he reminded himself. She lacked the art. But then Draco saw Slughorn’s face as he examined Potter’s attempts.  
No.  
No, something wasn’t right. 

“The clear winner!” cried the man. “Excellent, excellent, Harry!

Draco stared at the dark-haired boy. This wasn’t right.   
“How did he manage that?” Zabini grumbled. “How is that even possible?”  
“Looks like Granger is just as pissed,” Daphne said.  
Draco felt sick, wanting to throw his caldron at Potter when he realized the boy was looking in his direction. Probably delighted to have one-upped him. 

… _you will watch your mother die as you are slowly skinned alive …_

Ignoring everyone, Draco furiously cleaned his station and stormed from the room. He refused to go to the dorms. He wouldn’t go to the Great Hall. He didn’t want to be seen.   
He could go to the room with hidden things, but the thought of that cursed cabinet made him feel worse. He realized that his vision was blurry and, to his alarm, he understood that he was crying. Crying!  
He hurried to the nearest bathroom and barred the door. 

Sucking in huge gasps of air, Draco slowly fell to his knees. His heart was racing and he was seeing spots.   
How did it all go so wrong? His euphoria was replaced by debilitating terror. What had he done? Why had he ignored his mother? She had warned him to disregard Aunt Bella, to never follow her plans. And now he was a marked Death Eater with an impossible task! 

He was dying. He couldn’t breathe and then suddenly he was wailing. He fell forward onto his hands and watched as snot fell onto the floor. 

“If you decide to kill yourself,” a ghostly voice said, startling Draco from his crouched position. “I’ll share my U-bend with you.”  
She was floating between the floorboards, so only her torso and head were in the room with him. She was an unattractive girl, he noted, with pimples and glasses.  
“Go away!” he snarled, quickly rubbing his eyes with his sleeves.  
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she said. “I know what it is like to want to end things. I think about death all the time. I often consider killing myself before I remember that I’m already dead.”  
Draco swallowed quickly, uncomfortable with the ghostly girl. “This is a boy’s toilet.” He cringed at his own words. She’s a ghost, what does she care!?  
The ghost just smiled. “I like talking about misery. I’ll listen.”   
He eyed her carefully. “No one is supposed to know,” he heard himself whimper and tried to keep from crying again.  
“No one wants to be around me, so who would I tell?”

* * *

Shadows were creeping down the corridors as Luna Lovegood made her way to the Ravenclaw tower. She tried not to feel lonely, but it seemed that only Ginny Weasley made time for her. And that was usually to jump to her defense if anyone teased her. Perhaps, if she had never known what it might be like having friends, this feeling of emptiness would not be so consuming.  
As she approached the eagle knocker at the door of the common room, she stopped, realizing that there was already a cluster of students waiting. It didn’t matter if she knew the answer or not, this particular group would be quite rude to her. Before she could continue, a translucent and pearly woman emerged from the wall beside her and became stationary in front of her, blocking her path.   
A layer of images floated across Luna’s vision and she felt herself fall into a dreaming state. She was suddenly not quite a part of her surroundings any longer. This was nothing new to her.   
The Grey Lady looked critically at Luna, but Luna just looked back at her. Her bones began to shake and she heard a distant memory of her mother’s voice when she first explained to Luna what it was like to experience the world from outside your physical form. _You’re not quite awake, but knowledge seeps into your body like a thunderstorm._  
Luna tilted her head to the side. “Good evening,” she said calmly to the ghost. But the Grey Lady continued to look at Luna.  
“You are an enigma, Maiden Lovegood.”  
“You are a ghost.”  
The Grey Lady smiled, “You do have a way of always getting to the heart of matters, Luna.”  
“I believe there are Wrackspurts around,” Luna said in a distracted voice. “My brain is a bit fuzzy. Do you happen to know where they are hiding?”  
“I take it back.”  
Luna looked up, confused.  
“You get to the heart of matters… most of the time. It seems you are ignoring something about yourself. Why?’”  
“Isn’t that what people do, though? I think that is a rather silly question.” Luna was trying to keep her mind from going any fuzzier.  
“Stop running away from it, girl!” 

The layers of images were all around Luna now, as if there were more ghosts in the hallway. But they were different versions of the Grey Lady and herself. Her mother and she had lovely conversations about these sightings. 

“_Your father sees them as flickers in the shadows, like something that is in the corner of your eye and you can’t move fast enough to see it clearly. It was one of the reasons I first paid attention to him; when I realized he was trying to see what I saw. Suddenly, things felt a bit less lonely.” _  
_“What do they look like to you?”_  
_“Not quite what they look like for you. They are more sounds to me, with different colors and glimmers for different emotions; I hear snippets of everything all at once and it can be very distracting. I think I would prefer to see the layers like you do.”_  
_“Daddy says they are just my imagination.”_  
_“Wrackspurts?”_  
_“So, they are real?”_  
_Pandora Lovegood started to laugh._

Her laughter filled Luna’s memory and carried into the corridors of Hogwarts. 

“Which one will you pick today?” the Grey Lady asked. “Your father or your mother?”  
Luna looked sharply at the Grey Lady, but the ghost continued. “As I said, Luna, you are an enigma. Why are you ignoring your gift? Will you continue to hold on to the feeble explanations your father uses, or will you rely on the knowledge your mother bestowed on you while she was alive?” 

Luna wanted to walk away and look for dirigible plums, but at that moment one of the visions of herself blocked her path alongside the Grey Lady. She watched the layer of herself form her mouth into words she couldn’t make out. It was becoming overwhelming and she stared at the Grey Lady.  
“How do you know about the things I see?”  
“Ghosts can see them, too. Probably more frequently than the living who have the gift. And it is very rare for the living to see them at all.”  
“But how do you know that I can see anything other than Wrackspurts?”  
The Grey Lady laughed. “I am a ghost, Luna. I have been in this castle for generations and your parents attended Hogwarts, did they not?”  
Luna looked again at the transparent layer of herself and realized that she was talking with another layer of the ghost.   
“Wrackspurts do make my head go fuzzy,” Luna said.  
“But are they real?”  
Her mother’s laugher filled the hallway again and Luna suddenly felt less lonely. Coming from the nearby window, a blue butterfly floated above the Grey Lady’s head and Luna was startled to realize she almost hadn’t seen it. Her mother used to wear a brooch that looked exactly like it and Luna was confident, this was a sign. A sign she almost missed because of Wrackspurts. Cautiously, before her fear took hold and she turned away from this moment and joined the students at the door, Luna reached out and let the butterfly land on her outstretched hand.   
And everything went still. The sensations of not being awake, of being trapped in a dream, were abruptly gone and she knew she had never felt more aware of anything in her life.   
Everything was waking around her. And she could see so much more than the incandescent layers in this moment. Every person layered in front of her had a fine silver thread attached at their shoulders, spinning off into different directions. Her eyes followed the thread of the Luna who went back to the tower, answered the riddle and disappeared; the other students with her in various layers themselves. Luna saw that she was merging into the Luna and thread in front of her, and all of the layers were dissolving around her. 

“How does it feel?”  
“It wasn’t the way I expected,” Luna began. “It wasn’t how I expected her to come back to me, I mean.”   
“Isn’t the truth so much better than—what are they called? Wrackspurts?”  
“Oh, those are real.” Luna replied in a distinctly dotty voice. “Thank you for stopping me, Grey Lady. The emptiness isn’t so lonely now.”  
Luna gave a small little wave and skipped to the knocker outside the tower door.

The Grey Lady felt content as the peculiar girl slid inside the tower door.   
“You shouldn’t have done that, Helena.”  
She inhaled quickly, an instinct that would not end at death, and looked behind her to the nearly headless soul behind her.  
“It would appear I failed, Nick. She still believes in those silly creatures.”  
He shook his head at her. “She should have come to the gift at her own time.”  
“Perhaps her time was now.”  
“What games are you playing at?”  
“I am not playing games. I am simply performing my duties as the ghost of Ravenclaw and assisting the students who need it.”  
“It is not our place. The risks involved…”  
“There are no risks, Nick. You can see that as well as I can.”  
“If there were no risks, then we would navigate the strings ourselves!” He shook his head more vehemently this time, the action causing it to wobble more than necessary. He righted it on his shoulders and looked intently at the maiden. “We can not interfere in the lives of the living in pursuit of our own revenge.”  
“Revenge?” she laughed sourly. “The only revenge owed is against myself. I ruined my own life.” She began floating away from the Ravenclaw corridors, but Nearly Headless Nick followed closely. “In all the years I have resided here, Nick, I have enjoyed guiding students towards the right answers. The answers that he or she already knows. Luna Lovegood knew the truth, but she was afraid of it. I didn’t do anything other than ask her to stop lying to herself.”  
The ghost beside her remained quiet and the two continued through the corridors together. 


	8. Circumstances Deviated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _Silver and Opals_, the twelfth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.

Angry needles of sleet fell down as Hermione made her way quickly along the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were following close behind while she had her arm around a fellow student, Leanne. They were all shaking, but the cold was not the only culprit.

The image of their classmate eerily floating in the air occupied all their minds. And though Katie Bell had been rushed to the castle in Hagrid’s strong arms, her screams still seemed to echo in the howling wind. The castle was in view, recognizable in the haze by its giant mass. Harry could no longer feel his face, having used his scarf to bundle the box with the opal necklace they believed to be the dark object that cursed Katie. 

Sleet continued to swirl down around them but, as they approached the castle steps, they were able to see their Head of House, Professor McGonagall, hurrying down to them.   
“Hagrid says you four saw what happened to Katie Bell—” Professor McGonagall directed to the students. “Upstairs to my office at once, please!”  
Harry awkwardly adjusted the bundle in his hands and the older woman’s eyes darted to it. “What’s that you’re holding, Potter?”

Distracted from the conversation unfolding around her, Hermione was looking to the top of the stairs, watching Luna Lovegood who stood loitering there. The blonde’s hair was blowing in the wind like a beacon and her blue eyes were piercing as she took in the scene below her. Somehow, Luna looked both out of place and as if she were exactly where she should be. 

“It’s the thing she touched,” Harry answered the professor, not paying any heed to Luna’s presence. The professor ordered Filch, the caretaker who had been approaching them, to take the cursed necklace to the medical wing for examination before the group made their way to the top of the stairs. Luna came up to Leanne and embraced the shaking girl, slowly leading her towards the professor’s office.   
“What’s she doing here?” Ron asked Hermione.  
Hermione shook her head, not sure why it mattered. 

When they all arrived outside the professor’s door, Luna released Leanne and started to leave, her hand touching Hermione’s arm softly, as if saying _“Oh, hello.”_ Hermione felt a sense of warmth fill her cold limbs and was surprised to discover that she truly had missed the girl.   
“Ms. Lovegood…” Professor McGonagall called after her.  
Luna stopped and turned back to look at the group, her face pleasant and out of place for the situation the rest found themselves in.   
“Thank you for coming to me. We will discuss the matter further at a later time.”  
Luna watched the woman for a moment, her eyes seeming to grow distant, before she nodded her head, a small tilt upwards of her mouth, and continued down the corridor. 

“The girl’s totally barmy,” Ron whispered to Harry, but Harry was too focused on his suspicions regarding the necklace to notice Ron’s usual dismissive comments about Luna.   
Hermione, however, was bothered by the comment. Luna had shown herself to be a rather sweet and loyal friend. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she should make a better effort to get to know the perplexing girl.

Hermione watched Harry while Leanne was explaining how Katie had returned from the bathroom holding an unmarked package and seeming a bit off. He was barely listening and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to bring up the notion that Malfoy had done this. She looked over at Ron and knew he felt the same. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders when Leanne began sobbing, so overcome with guilt and grief while telling her tale she had to be sent to the medical wing. 

“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?” Professor McGonagall asked the three remaining students. Hermione was opening her mouth to answer, but Harry had actually been quicker. “She rose up into the air and started screaming and then collapsed,” he blurted out. “Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?”  
“He is currently away. If there are matters you need to discuss, I can assist you,” the professor replied, a bit put off by Harry’s abrupt request. Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the back and forth between Harry and Professor McGonagall regarding his absolute certainty that Draco Malfoy was behind Katie’s attack. Both she and Ron tried to intervene, but Harry was adamant. His tone was so disrespectful and she was ashamed for her friend. Surely, the professor would understand that he was still recovering from his godfather’s murder. That his obsession with Draco Malfoy was a way to think of things other than his rescue from the Dursley’s having been ripped away? That the only person he had ever considered family had been lost right in front of his eyes? 

“That’s enough!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed in a halting voice, having reached her breaking point with Harry’s accusations. Hermione cringed at the pitch of the woman’s voice. Silently, she beseeched Harry to let it go. Their eyes met and she saw the temper in his. Of course, he viewed her different point of view as betrayal. Why did he think he was always right? His claims weren’t even well thought out! 

“Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.”  
The silence that followed Professor McGonagall’s statement seemed eternal. But Harry refused to give up. “How do you know, Professor?”  
Hermione and Ron both fell back a bit from Harry, as if distancing themselves from him. The look on Professor McGonagall’s face would likely have sent Voldemort running for the hills. “Because he was serving detention with me, Potter. He failed to complete his Transfiguration homework two times in a row, now.”  
This surprised Hermione and she looked back up at the professor. Draco Malfoy skived off his homework? He was a lot of things, but lazy in his studies was not one of them.   
“Thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter, but I need to go up to the hospital wing and check on Ms. Bell.”  
They surrendered to the implied order, Hermione and Ron with relief and Harry begrudgingly, and moved towards the door to exit the room, but as Hermione was just to the entrance, the professor stopped her. “Ms. Granger, I will require your company for a few moments more. I do have questions regarding another matter.” 

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron left Professor McGonagall’s office, both completely absorbed in their own thoughts about what she considered Draco Malfoy’s improbable involvement in Katie Bell’s mishap. Ron was, of course, placating Harry.   
Hermione shivered, still cold from the biting cold of Hogsmeade and the shock of witnessing such dark magic. She rubbed her arms and turned back towards the office and the woman looking at her. 

“I asked you to stay, Ms. Granger, because I am not satisfied with your answers about what occurred over the summer break.”  
Hermione stilled and looked to the floor of the professor’s office, her confusion sending her thoughts racing. This had to be because of McLaggen! She should never have used the _Confundus_ on him so that Ron could get on the team. Of course, Professor McGonagall would know and think that Hermione was out of control. _Maybe she was…_

Professor McGonagall continued, “I realize that the dementors caused a great deal of stress, but two bouts of accidental magic performed by a witch who was mere months from being considered of age… Who is the top of her class and incredibly gifted… It is—” the professor cut herself off and looked at Hermione darkly. “I am not an idiot, Ms. Granger. I want to know what really happened that night.” 

Hermione felt sweat form in her arm pits and considered the woman before her. She thought of the evening in question and remembered seeing the memory of her father on the phone with her Uncle Robert. “Was it you who told my father about the first war?” she asked, her voice so quiet Hermione barely heard it herself.   
But Professor McGonagall had heard and was not ruffled by the question. “Yes, dear. Of course, I had to explain the situation.”  
Both women were still standing and Professor McGonagall pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk while she sat down in the one beside it. Hermione was surprised, but pleased, to see this informal act and sat down, turning to face the older woman. The professor pulled out her wand and with a delicate movement of her hand, a cabinet on the other side of her desk opened and a tin levitated to the desk in front of them.   
“Have a biscuit and I will explain. However, I am doing so with the trust that you will reciprocate and answer my questions before leaving this office.”  
Hermione gave a quick nod as she chewed her biscuit, relishing the sweet flavor and the magical warmth it provided.   
“Your parents were reticent when I came to their door, understandably. But the further I delved into the topic of magic, the more apparent it was that they weren’t afraid because it was the unknown to them, but because of something unknown to me. I had been hoping that a bit of simple magic would make them more comfortable and allow me insight on their familiarity, but as soon as I pulled out my wand your mother screamed and your father pulled the both of them behind the coach.”  
Hermione could envision it. Professor McGonagall had pulled out what could easily be described as a twig, just as her uncle had described to her father.  
“You seem to understand why that was a problem,” Professor McGonagall said, eyeing Hermione shrewdly. “I was able to conclude that your parents had somehow had experience with magic. It took a great deal of coaxing and work, but I was able to get the story out of your father. His anger was justified and fueled mine. It became that much more important that I convince them to let you attend Hogwarts and learn how to understand and protect yourself. I am truly sorry about your cousin. Your parents informed me that you didn’t remember her, though?” The question was left dangling in the air as the older woman looked at Hermione, giving her a moment to collect herself and answer the professor’s original question. _What really happened that night? _

“That was the accidental magic, Professor,” Hermione explained. “As I said before, the dementors in Little Wood put me on edge. As I considered what would happen to my parents if Death Eaters came after them, I begged them to leave England. They refused to leave without me, Professor. We argued and my mother let it slip that the Death Eaters had found them before.” 

Hermione stopped, her memories of that night reigniting the guilt she felt.  
_She used magic against us!_

“So that is when you performed the _legilimens_ spell?”  
Hermione nodded her head. “It truly was an accident, professor. I didn’t mean to see their memories. But instead of just a kaleidoscope of images I told you about, I saw specific images relating to my cousin and her murder.”  
After a moment, Professor McGonagall conjured a napkin and wiped invisible crumbs from her lips. “What did you make them forget, Hermione?” Her tone was a command.  
  
Hermione had originally told the professor she didn’t even know she had performed the second spell. That she had been sleepwalking and when her cat, Crookshanks, had darted past her, she had believed him to be a dementor and jumped. She had assumed it was the cat who knocked over the house plant, but she must have obliviated it somehow. “_Can plants be obliviated?_” she had asked her professor. 

She looked at Professor McGonagall now and jutted out her chin. “They weren’t going to let me come back, Professor. They were going to make me deny my magic and run away.”  
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and Hermione continued. “I made them forget our argument and my pleas for them to leave because of the danger of Voldemort. I let them keep their resurrected fear after Iris’s murder, but distanced that fear from me. I planted the idea that they give me access to their legal matters in case anything was to happen to them. And I encouraged them to regularly set aside funds to store in case they need to leave quickly.”  
The professor’s eyes had grown rather large and she set the tin on her desk. “Who else have you obliviated?”  
“What?! No one!”  
“Yet, on a whim,” Professor McGonagall began, incredulously, “you mastered a skill you had never performed before?”  
“I have read about that incantation repeatedly ever since this school hired Gilderoy Lockhart! The spell fascinated me.”  
The women eyed each other carefully before Professor McGonagall shook her head and sighed. “You are incredibly gifted, Ms. Granger, it’s true.” The professor rose from her seat and moved around her desk to stand behind it. “I am not sure how to proceed with this information,” she continued. “I respect your desire to return to Hogwarts and your fear for your parents. I even understand your misrepresentation of what actually occurred. But you used magic on muggles! Magic you knew little about! Do you know how badly this could have turned out?” 

Hermione bowed her head. “That being said,” Professor McGonagall continued. “You were certainly not in your right state of mind after all that had taken place that evening, including the effects of actual accidental magic. I could consider this an unplanned act on your part and, now that you are of age, the issue is more or less a moot point. You and I will be meeting regularly, however, to refine some of your natural capabilities.”  
Hermione’s heart stopped and then leapt. With Professor McGonagall’s direct tutelage, she could be better able to help Harry and Ron defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters. She may even find a better way to protect her family.  
“I do need to go to the hospital wing, now. But Ms. Granger, please refrain from any further bouts of unreasoned magic,” Professor McGonagall said. “Even a _Confundus_ used to prevent disaster on our chances for the house cup.” 

Hermione hid her small smile as she and the professor left the office and parted ways. She honestly wasn’t sure if she should have been as straightforward with the professor during their first meeting or not. The woman had seemed different tonight, as if she were looking at Hermione with new eyes. Hermione sighed and shrugged the thought away. The professor was most likely just looking at Hermione as if she was an adult, now. 

Turning a corner on her way to her common room, her path crossed that of Draco Malfoy’s. He looked ill. His eyes had dark circles under them and his frame was too thin. She was alarmed by his appearance. They had only been in school for a month and a half, but he looked like he hadn’t been eating or sleeping much at all during that time. 

“What are you looking at, Mudblood?” Draco Malfoy jibed, as he registered who it was in front of him. But Hermione noted there was no malice in his tone, just a tired voice spouting off words as if from muscle memory.  
She raised her eyebrow at him and frowned when he raised his back. She was fully aware that he was much better at it than she was.   
“If we’re relying on familiar name calling, what was my favorite for you? Loathsome, little cockroach?” she said while eyeing him up and down. “So, I’m not looking at much of anything, Malfoy.”  
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but surprised her when he shook his head instead, and walked around her. “Just stay out of my way,” he sent over his shoulder. “I don’t have time for lesser sort like you.”  
She noticed again that the words were right, but he wasn’t himself. Before she thought it through she started after him. “Are you alright, Malfoy?”  
He stopped, but didn’t look back at her.  
“What business is it of yours, Mudblood? Interested in taking up the proper duties of your kind, perhaps?”  
She didn’t want to consider what he was implying and huffed out a growl before turning back to her original path to the common room. She didn’t notice him turn to watch her departing figure. 

Draco Malfoy pulled his fingers through his hair and let out a breath. If the mudblood was worried about him, he must really look awful. Pushing aside the small comfort he had felt at her concern, he continued through the corridors to a rarely used bathroom. He needed to vent and hopefully Myrtle would be there already. 

Slowly pushing open the door, he verified that he was alone in the room before barring the door. Myrtle wasn’t there, but it was no matter; she would come eventually. She always showed up eventually. Finally, able to let go, he leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the cold floor. Resting his head against his knees he began to cry, shaking forcefully.   
It wasn’t long until he felt the cold sensation on his shoulders and knew that the ghost was there. She had taken to using her small bit of energy to give him strength. Raising his head up he looked over and saw her resting against him, her arm across his back. He could almost imagine the cold feeling was actually her arm and not the misty air that made her form. 

“It all went wrong today,” he told her.  
She lifted her head and looked at him critically. “If he kills you, you really can share my U-bend.”  
He managed a small sound that might have been a laugh and rose to his feet. “I am nowhere near fixing the blasted cabinet. And nowhere near the task he has ordered me to complete.” He began pacing, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. “My friends are blissfully ignorant of the details. Theo begs to help, but I can’t bring him into this. Pansy looks at me like I have grown a second head; she refuses to touch my arm, afraid of what she will find there. But Crabbe and Goyle are necessary. And if they don’t assist me somehow and make the Dark Lord proud, their father’s will be furious,” he said. 

He looked back at Myrtle who was floating around the room. “I wasn’t able to steal the Felix Felicis, but I was able to grab a bit of something he didn’t value as much. Thank you for your help with that. I don’t know if I could have managed it if you hadn’t used Peeves to distract him.” 

Myrtle smiled, her pimply face almost pleasant at the compliment. “I am glad you keep coming to visit, Draco. It gets so lonely being a ghost.”

Draco nodded in her direction and tried to smile. “I think I will be leaving now, though. I am going to have to try to get some sleep tonight. It seems even the stupid little mudblood is worried about me—" 

Her pained cry surprised him and he turned to look at her but she was gone. Her wail was echoing through the pipes before she floated back into the room, water flying from the faucets behind him. “—think it’s funny to mock ugly, miserable, moping Moaning Myrtle” she was crying before splashing into one of the toilets, her voice growing distant before fading entirely. 

Draco was startled by her reaction to his cutting the meeting short. He hadn’t realized she would be so upset. She truly was the only soul he _could_ talk to. After several failed attempts to get her attention, he unlocked the door and peered into the hall before making his way to the Slytherin dorms. Every now and then he would hear her wail and the sounds of water splashing. Girls really were a lot of work, he thought to himself and sighed as he sidestepped a rather large puddle outside the unused girls’ lavatory and continued down the corridor that would lead to the dungeons. 

He hadn’t noticed that he was being watched. Harry Potter was eyeing the other young man critically, certain that he was right and that Malfoy was behind the assault earlier that day. Preparing to follow Draco further, Harry was surprised when a small, blonde figure stepped in front of him.

“Hello, Harry,” said Luna, her voice light. He felt as though she were looking through him and not at him and he tried to look around her in order to keep his eyes on Draco, but she stepped in front of his line of sight again. “I don’t think he will be going anywhere else tonight, Harry. And really, the both of you could use some sleep.”  
“Who needs sleep?” Harry asked, distracted by her words.  
“You and Draco Malfoy need sleep, of course. You both have had rather trying days.”  
“What was so trying about _his_ day, Luna?” Harry bit out, suspicion in his tone. He was vaguely aware that he was being rude, but his focus was solely on proving that Malfoy was a Death Eater.  
“I assume detention is always trying.”  
Harry turned to look at Luna, distracted momentarily from the retreating shadow of Draco Malfoy. “How did you know about his detention?” Harry asked, his voice harsh.  
Luna seemed to deflate, as if she had sighed. “You should probably spend time with people other than Ron for a while. You are starting to sound like him when you talk to me,” Luna said before turning away from Harry. “I hope it’s just that you’re tired, though.”  
Harry felt horrible. “Luna, I’m sorry,” he said, rushing to catch up with her. “I’ve been in a horrible mood for months and I just can’t shake it. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”  
“It isn’t just me, though, is it?”  
Harry swallowed, but chose not to comment on the uncomfortable truth she had spoken. The two continued to walk in silence for a short while, heading towards the stairs where they would eventually part for their respective towers.   
“Since you’re obviously aware that I was following him, what else do you know?” he asked, genuinely curious about what the girl would come up with.  
“I know a lot of things, Harry,” Luna replied in her distant voice. Looking at her face, Harry realized there was a glint in her eyes and he laughed.   
Not wanting the silence to intrude again, Harry said tiredly “I think he was behind what happened to Katie Bell.” He rubbed his forehead, expecting the usual argument he received from Ron and Hermione.  
Instead, Luna said, “He could be.”  
Harry stopped suddenly in momentary confusion. “Why do you say that?” he asked quickly, catching up to Luna who had continued walking without him. “You just said you knew that he was in detention!”  
“No, I just said that I know a lot of things, Harry.”  
Harry wasn’t put off by her. “So, if he could be behind it, how do you think he did it?”  
“Have you been paying attention to Hermione, Harry?”  
This stopped Harry. “She and I have been having some difference of opinions, lately.”  
“About Draco?”  
“And about my… study guide in Potions,” he answered evasively.   
Luna looked at him, almost sadly, and nodded her head. “If he was behind it, Harry, I would be more curious as to why.”  
“Because he is a Death Eater!” Harry hissed.  
“But, why?”  
“Because he is a pure-blooded bigot.”  
“Why?”  
“Luna, his father is evil. His mother probably is, too. They raised him to be evil and he hurt Katie Bell because of that.”  
“Katie isn’t a muggle-born.”  
“No, but she was bringing that cursed necklace back to the castle to give it to someone else.”  
“Maybe Draco.”  
“So he could give it to someone else!”  
“Why?”  
Harry let out a frustrated groan and the two started climbing the stairs together. 

“What will you do about Quidditch? Now that Katie can’t play.”  
Harry groaned again.   
Luna’s lips twitched and she added, “I am sure your decision will make you come to terms with a lot of things.”  
They walked up the stairs for a while, and Harry was content, noticing that the silence wasn’t so bad with Luna.   
“The nice thing about your study guide in Potions, I suppose,” Luna said, veering the conversation in yet another direction, “is that it will reveal a lot about who you are to yourself, too.”  
Harry wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. They had reached the fork and Luna began taking the stairs that led to the Ravenclaw tower.  
“In regards to figuring out your Draco situation,” she continued, her voice floating down behind her, “I imagine a good bump to the head will give you an idea or two.” 

Harry just shook his head as he watched the girl make it to the top of the stairs before mounting his own flight. His thoughts quickly moved to Quidditch and he knew that Dean Thomas was the obvious choice there. McLaggen would be furious, but maybe Harry could convince Hermione to perform another _Confundus_ on him. That girl could be lethal if she set her mind to it, he thought to himself with a grin. Thank Merlin they had become friends first year. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. 

His pace slowed as he considered Luna’s question. Why should he be paying attention to Hermione? He shook his head. He had found that almost anything Luna said would make itself clear at some point or another. He would just wait on it and hope, that as usual, it wasn’t important. 


	9. Give No Quarter

Frustration bubbled within him and he knew there was nothing that he could do about it. Just like there was nothing that he could do about the horrible pain in his arm. His metal arm. His _gift_ from the Dark Lord. It unnerved him that it hurt so much. 

Peter’s steps were unsteady as he made his way to the kitchen, hoping that the house elves would take pity on him and brew him another pain potion. Their potions were rather weak compared to the ones he pilfered from Snape while stuck in the oily man’s miserable home, but Merlin, he needed something. The tiny needles in his limb were like a constant _Crucio_ held from his elbow down. 

Trying to catch his breath he leaned into the kitchen door to push it open, realizing too late his mistake. Bellatrix Lestrange had been behind him, for how long he did not know. The miserable woman who had ruined his life was staring at him, her expression mocking. 

“Prowling about the manor a bit late, aren’t you Wormtail?” she purred slowly as she stepped towards him. Her hair was particularly wild this evening and she had the distinct odor of floo powder. He assumed she had been off galivanting with the other Death Eaters that were wooing the disgusting werewolves.  
“Just in need of a bit of sustenance,” he said, ashamed at the squeak in his voice. He stood there, cradling his metal arm in his hand, and tried to remember what he was actually doing. “Was there something you needed?” he asked, afraid there was.  
“Oh, Wormy, why are you so anxious? Aren’t we friends?” she asked, her eyes betraying a menacing quality. “Haven’t we been friends for years?” She reached behind him and started easing the door he was still leaning into.   
Peter stumbled back a bit before walking backwards into the kitchen and letting her get ahead of him. 

“Of, course,” he stammered.  
Bellatrix sauntered into the kitchen and sat at a table by the window. She leaned the chair back and propped her legs on the table and continued to look at Peter. “Was there a reason you were headed here? Don’t let me stop you,” her voice was buzzing with laughter.

There was no way he would be requesting a pain potion with Bellatrix in the kitchen. It didn’t matter anyway, as none of the house elves were present. If he attempted anything in the kitchen, she would mock him. His magic was limited in the manor and even more so in the elves’ domain. Either his magic would fail or he would have to do it the muggle way. 

Her laughter penetrated his thoughts and he looked back at her, realizing too late her wand was pointed at him. Suddenly, he felt the stabbing intrusion of her in his mind. He fell to his knees, screaming out in pain as she tore through his thoughts. He was powerless against her; he always had been. 

“Oh, poor Wormtail. Got a bit of gyp with your gammy arm?” She slammed her feet and chair down and quickly rose from her seat. “As much as I loathe the oily git, Snape does have a way with potion making.” She walked over to Peter and clucked her tongue. “Grubber!”  
With a pop, a shriveled looking house elf appeared in the kitchen.   
“Yes, mistress?” the tiny creature asked while bowing its head low to the ground.   
“This ungrateful pest on the floor is whimpering over the blessing my gracious master bestowed on him. Have you any suggestions for relieving his suffering?”  
The decrepit elf turned to Peter and, realizing how close it was to him, took a step backwards. “My mistress despises him? Then cut it off.” 

Bellatrix chortled and Peter held his arm closer to him. It only hurt on occasion and he would not be losing his arm again due to the whims of Bellatrix and the little elf at her feet. He watched as the witch cooed happily at Grubber. He had never encountered this elf before, which led him to believe it was one of Bellatrix’s. Its skin was so wrinkled and dry, it looked like bark. One arm was longer than the other, the fingers pointed and sharp and its ears standing tall and alert. And its eyes were terrifying; they were like black holes.   
“I don’t believe my master would approve of our destroying his creation,” she answered Grubber, who bowed before her. “Perhaps a mild pain potion to dull his hurt.”  
“Yes, mistress,” Grubber said. He popped away, which added to Peter’s belief that he was not a Malfoy elf. 

“How dare you be angered at our Dark Lord,” she said, turning to him suddenly. “You are not worthy of the tolerance he has shown you— If I had been in your shoes, I would never have hidden away with blood traitors! I would have found him immediately! Your punishment is mild compared to what you deserve!”  
“I brought him back!” Peter shouted, forgetting his fear of her in his anger. “I found him and I brought him back! You would be rotting in Azkaban still if I had not found him!” He rose his head and grimaced, remnants of pain still lingering.  
“You are a rat, Wormtail. That is all you will ever be, you miserable little rodent.” She flicked her wand and sent a stinging hex at his curled form. “We all waited because of you. And you only retrieved the Dark Lord because you were found out! You would have been content remaining a rat for the rest of your miserable days! And to think, it was me who convinced the Dark Lord to take you into the fold.” 

With a pop, Grubber returned holding a dark liquid in a clear bottle. Peter eyed the potion doubtfully. Even he knew that was not a typical pain tonic. To his relief, the dark liquid was given to Bellatrix and another bottle appeared in the elf’s hand before he gave that to his mistress, as well. With a nod of his head, Grubber popped away again and Bellatrix was handing the pain potion to Peter. 

Once he had consumed every drop, he felt more confident. He rose to his feet, the pain just an irritation now. “Our master is reborn because of my efforts. My arm was replaced because I am a loyal and true servant.”  
“It burns even now, doesn’t it?” She whispered as she paced around him.  
“I sacrificed everything for him!”  
“Sacrificed? What did you sacrifice, Wormtail? Your friends? You gained everything for such a small thing… you didn’t even like them.” She twirled her wand in her fingers, her hair obscuring part of her face. “You didn’t sacrifice for the Dark Lord, Wormy. We both know that. Your infatuation with Jugson is the only reason you didn’t just run away from everyone.” 

Peter swallowed hard as he thought of the other man. Price Jugson had been just a few years ahead of him at Hogwarts. And had awoken feelings in Peter he had never considered before. He looked to Bellatrix and his resentment surfaced again. It was all her fault. She had found him spying on Jugson in Diagon Alley and had quickly realized his attraction. 

“Your sacrifice was nothing more than choosing the winning side and saving your own miserable skin. Any hesitation you had from turning away from the ‘light’ was banished at the pathetic hope of Jugson noticing you.” Her laugh filled the space and she continued to walk circles around him. “I knew you never stood a chance with him,” she continued, licking her lips and sliding her hands over her hips, “but I was never going to tell you that. Not when you were so close to the Order.” She cackled and spun in a circle, then reached out and pulled at Peter’s hair, twirling a captured strand around her wand. 

Peter was immobile. She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already suspect, but to hear his suspicions confirmed grated on him. The witch knew his darkest secret and used it against him, enticing him with the promise of Jugson and safety from the Order if he were to become a spy. If he were stronger, or braver, he would wring her neck. 

“A great deal of spells can be performed using human hair,” she said, looking at him as though he amused her. “Did you know, Wormtail? And now I have a bit of yours.”  
He was afraid. She always terrified him, but her manic appearance was beyond unsettling. “As you said to Grubber earlier, Bellatrix,” he grated out, trying to appear calm. “I am our master’s creation.” 

“_You?!?_” she hissed. “You, his creation?” her voice was angry, but suddenly her eyes opened wide and she began to laugh. “He gifted you a cursed arm, Wormtail. A cursed arm to remind you to never again forget who your master is. The Dark Lord would not make such a mistake as to put any value in you. No, you are his pet. You are lower than Grubber in the food chain. And if you decide to be a rat again, if you dare go against the Dark Lord…” She held her wand to his face and stroked the strand of hair wrapped around it. “That will be the last thing you do, Wormy.” 

She began chanting in a hushed voice, her eyes only on the strand of hair around her wand. And then she unwound the hair, placing the small little heap in the palm of her hand. Peter Pettigrew stood transfixed, watching her as she put on her odd performance. Her actions looked like a child playing make-believe, but he couldn’t shake the knot of fear growing in his belly. Then, suddenly, she quieted and the room became strangely silent. She grabbed his metal arm with her free hand and slammed his strand of hair down on the appendage. Pain as he had never known coursed through his body, but was abruptly gone. His metal fingers twitched. 

When she removed her hand, there was a black mark on his false arm. It was as if his hair had burned to the metal and stained it. He tried to move his fingers, but for a brief moment, nothing happened. Then she laughed, a sound that was surprisingly light, and he looked at her and felt his fingers clench. 

“Oh, Wormtail, you daft rat. Go to bed.”  
She was laughing at him, he realized, and he felt foolish for falling for her mad games. He tried to laugh with her, as if he found it all funny instead of horribly frightening, and quickly made his way from the room. He looked back once as the door was closing behind him and felt a sense of relief that she had already turned away from him. 

Bellatrix was looking at the back wall of the kitchen, Peter already forgotten to her. She felt her sister in the room, but could not find her anywhere. It had been a happy accident to find Wormy in the corridor – she did always enjoy playing with him, but she had been on the hunt for Cissy. 

“Where are you hiding, Cissy?” she asked the wall before spinning around the room. “_Homenum revelio_” she bellowed as she quickly looked around the room, but there was no sign of anyone else in the kitchen. “I command you to show yourself, Cissy!” 

Nothing changed, but Bellatrix could feel their connection. “Grubber!” she called and welcomed the slightly echoed popping sound of his arrival.   
“Mistress?”  
“Where is my sister?”  
The little creature curled his daggerlike fingers and bowed his head. “Mistress, I cannot help you in this place. The magic here prevents it.”  
Bellatrix snarled out a hiss. “Why have you not found a way around it, Grubber? I have commanded you to do so!”   
With a slight tremor, the little elf asked, “What punishment shall I complete?”  
Bellatrix ignored the elf as she examined the wall again. “Cissy! Now!” she screamed. And then she howled. She no longer felt her sister’s presence and hadn’t since the elf arrived. Quickly turning she glared at the thing.  
“Where did she go?” she asked, but the elf just quivered and shook his head. 

The door to the kitchen slowly opened and Narcissa Malfoy entered the room in her dressing gown before anything more could be said. Her complexion was still pale and she looked to be very tired. “You called for me, Bella?” she asked, her voice weary. 

Bellatrix quickly turned and eyed her sister who was still recovering from the episode of rebellion months ago and it brought a satisfied grin to Bellatrix’s lips. As she slowly swaggered over to her sister, she noticed that Narcissa’s eyes had grown large. Following her sister’s gaze, Bellatrix felt her irritation bubble as she registered what had upset the other woman. 

“How… How is he here?” Narcissa questioned, alarm and disbelief in her voice.  
“I called for him, Cissy.” Bellatrix said and continued to watch the shock on her sister’s face, enjoying the questions she was too afraid to ask.   
“Grubber, though? How – I don’t understand, Bella!” There was no mistaking the panic in her sister’s voice and Bellatrix smiled coldly.   
“You know I am capable of quite a bit of magic, Cissy,” Bellatrix answered, and feeling the need to lash out, gently slid her finger through her sister’s hair before tugging it hard. “Besides, mother’s sacrifice allowed for more than just a little curse.” 

With an anguished cry, Narcissa slapped her sister across the face. The move had surprised the elder witch and she fell back just enough for Narcissa to kick out at her. But before Narcissa could do anything more, Grubber was between the two women. His sharp fingers dug into Narcissa’s leg and punctured the skin. She kicked him off her and into the wall and, in an instant, four of the resident house elves popped into the room, landing on top of Grubber and holding him down. All of the elves looked to their mistresses and upon Bellatrix’s curt nod, Grubber popped away causing the remaining four to fall to the floor. 

“Now, now, Cissy.” Bellatrix said, while wiping at the trickle of blood coming down her face. “Remember what happens when you strike me?”  
Narcissa reached up and wiped the blood from her own face as she stared at Bellatrix. “I will lash out anytime you bring her up. You are not worthy of speaking of our mother, Bella.” 

Bellatrix laughed as she crossed the kitchen to sit at the table once more. “Why would you say that, Cissy?”  
“You murdered her!” Cissy cried out, storming to the table where Bellatrix sat.  
“True, but she deserved it.” 

Narcissa opened her mouth as if to speak, but Bellatrix shouted first. “Silence!”  
No sound came from Narcissa’s moving mouth and she closed it in defeat.   
“Sit.” Bellatrix pointed to another chair at the table and Narcissa slowly sat down. 

The two women stared at each other before Narcissa motioned to one of the house elves still in the room. “Tea. Full service,” she ordered and, with a flurry, the elves set to work. 

“A bit late for that, don’t you think?” Bellatrix asked, but Narcissa just shrugged her shoulders.   
“One of the benefits of your disobedience,” Bellatrix continued, “is that you have been very well behaved as of late. Until tonight. I will give you grace as you were upset regarding our mother, but don’t push me anymore. I have begun to wonder what consequences Lucius suffers when you disobey me. Your marriage bond would cause him harm, no? Do you think he is fretting about why he is bleeding?” 

Narcissa bit her cheek to keep from responding. Bellatrix didn’t entirely understand the curse she had placed on Narcissa, and Narcissa would make no effort to educate her. Lucius was fine. While it was true the bond of marriage had subjected him to the curse, unless Bellatrix was particularly obsessed about something, she could not affect him while he was so far away. 

Bellatrix gingerly lifted the tea that had been placed before her. The etiquette instilled in her since her youth was second nature and she looked bizarre with her unkempt hair and rotting teeth while she daintily consumed her beverage.  
“Where were you, Cissy?”  
“I am sorry?”  
“I was following you. I know you were here in the kitchen, but I couldn’t find you.”  
“You were following me? Oh, no, I don’t think so. I haven’t been in this kitchen for some time. Not since Draco was a boy.”  
Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed, but Narcissa continued. “Surely, you remember how this house reacts to foreign magic. If it were a wizard, I’d say he was playing with you.”  
“Don’t lie to me, Narcissa!”  
“I’m not lying, Bella,” Narcissa chided. “This is the first I’ve been in this kitchen since Draco was a child. And the magic of this house doesn’t welcome those who aren’t Malfoys.” 

Watching her sister carefully, Bellatrix saw no signs of disobedience. She would have to return home soon, and visit the Oak Wood in order to sharpen her magic. She briefly considered sacrificing the rat before her alter, but was not inclined to steal from her Lord.   
“Any news from Draco regarding his progress?” Bellatrix asked, not taking her eyes off of Narcissa.   
“They will pair, but the one at Hogwarts was in far worse condition that he’d anticipated. He thinks it unlikely it will be ready by the Holiday.”  
“What of his actual assignment?”  
“I know it was you who put him up to this, Bella,” Narcissa muttered. “You sent him to be slaughtered!”  
“He’s willing to do what it takes to restore the Malfoy name,” Bellatrix answered, her tone bored.   
“The Malfoy name will restore itself after this bloody war is over!”  
Bellatrix slammed her fist on the table and rose from her seat. “Answer my question, sister! I grow weary of these distractions.”  
“He has tried and failed. He will continue to try until Dumbledore dies or he is caught and sent to Azkaban.”  
“We can’t have him fail, Cissy. I’d hate to lose my sister due to his inadequacy.”  
“I can’t lose my son!” Narcissa wailed, shaking her head at Bellatrix.  
“I am sure Snape will help him along,” Bellatrix cooed as she left the table. “And you have always managed to entrepreneur methods to save your son from ill fate.” Bellatrix laughed and spun around to look at Narcissa. “Just think, though, if you hadn’t interfered with my original plan, he might just have been saved from this fate.” 

Narcissa glared as Bellatrix strolled out of the kitchen laughing. With a snap of her fingers, a house elf appeared by her side. “I will be needing to write a letter to my son,” she said quietly. “I’m not quite ready to return to my chambers.”  
The elf nodded and popped away, only to return a moment later with her writing supplies. Narcissa nodded her head and the elf popped away for a second time. 

She sighed. She had used a great deal of her energy to apparate to the far hall in order to walk back down to the kitchen earlier. And now she must compose a letter to Draco and try to convince him to trust Severus. But she knew her son and he would disregard her request. He would not understand why she was requesting he rely on such a _loyal_ Death Eater. 

They were trapped. She sighed again and put ink to paper. If nothing else, she would convince him to remember the tale of the Oak and the Reeds. He would have to bend or he would break. 

With another snap of her fingers the elf returned and took the letter from Narcissa. “It will arrive with the morning post, Mistress.” The elf then took her hand and apparated them to her rooms. Even her vague requests in her letter to Draco had gone against her sister’s will and had taken more of her waning strength. Slowly, Narcissa found her way to the bed and fell into a deep sleep. 

While Narcissa slept in her bed, the door to her chambers opened. Bellatrix creeped inside and stared at her sister for a moment before she waved her wand around the room. There was something more to her sister’s absence earlier, but nothing unusual was indicated in the room. She tilted her head from shoulder to shoulder and eyed the items in the room. Walking along its perimeter, she slid her hands along the walls, but though she felt strong magic, she could make nothing more out. She would have to delve into her sister’s mind to find her answers. 

It ruffled her, but Bellatrix had to have eye contact in order to successfully complete the spell. She slowly walked to her sister’s sleeping form. “Open your eyes, sister,” she whispered and smiled as Cissy instantly obeyed. Whispering the spell, Bellatrix forced her way into her sister’s subconscious and was shocked when she was immediately pushed out so forcefully, she fell to the floor and vomited. 

Narcissa Malfoy rose quickly from her bed. “Bella!” she cried out, confused and shocked by Bellatrix’s presence at her bedside. “Are you sick? What happened – why are you here?”  
Bellatrix looked up at her sister in alarm. “How did you do that?”  
Narcissa feigned ignorance. “Do what? I was sleeping and woke to your being sick on my floor… I don’t understand your question.”  
“How did you push me out of your mind?”  
“I was sleeping, Bella! How could you have even entered my mind?”  
“I commanded you to open your eyes, Cissy, and you complied like a good little sister should. But as soon as I entered your mind, you pushed me out!”  
“It must have been instinct, Bella. Or, perhaps,” she said, deliberately choosing to use Bella’s ignorance against her, “it has something to do with your little curse.” Narcissa turned and marched to her bedroom door and flung it open. “I am tired and ill, as you well know. If you are sick due to your own misdeeds, I am not inclined to help you. Get out, Bella. Before I decide to misbehave some more. I am sure I have quite a few things I can do before I no longer have the strength to fight.” 

Bellatrix rose unhurriedly, using her wand to clean up the mess she had made. “You act as though you will die from this curse if you go against my will too many times, Cissy. But I wonder if you would die, or simply have no free will left at all.” She leisurely walked to the door of the room, storing her wand away and eyeing Narcissa carefully. “Just imagine what it will be like when you finally go too far and I can command you to murder anyone of my choosing. Perhaps your husband. Or even your own son.” 

Her laughter followed her form as she walked down the corridor towards the stairs. Narcissa swallowed and clenched her eyes shut, refusing to succumb to her fear. 


	10. Reading Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _The Unbreakable Vow_, the fifteenth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.
> 
> TW: #metoo

Hermione was quickly running down the stairs, desperate to keep her face hidden behind her hair. So, she laughed at him? So, what? It was funny! It was ridiculous! He was supposed to color his eyebrows and he gave himself a handlebar mustache, instead… the dunce!

She could barely see through her curtain of curls, but she knew the castle well. The corridors were as familiar to her as her own home. Not wanting to be found, she hurried down to the bathroom one level below. But, as she neared the door, she skidded to a halt when she saw a pale figure standing there as if waiting for her. 

“Luna?” she asked, an image of Luna at the top of the castle stairs, her hair waving in the sleet and wind, flashing in her memory.  
“Hello, Hermione. I thought you might need a friendly face right about now.” 

Hermione’s eyes felt heavy with the pressure of her tears and before she could stop herself, she burst into loud wails, her body rocking. She felt the gentle hands of Luna lead her into the bathroom and, instinctively, she turned her body towards Luna’s, leaning into the girl’s embrace. 

“Why is he so cruel?” Hermione sobbed.  
Luna’s hands gently stroked Hermione’s back, spreading warmth down her spine.   
“I shouldn’t have laughed,” Hermione continued, “And the birds the other night may have been harsh. He brings out the worst in me. He’s always so mean and so thoughtless. He had to make fun of me, and he hits the mark every time.”  
“Draco?” Luna asked, although she didn’t sound confident.  
“No,” Hermione wailed and started crying again. New waves of hurt filled Hermione at the thought that Ron would be mistaken for Draco Malfoy.  
Luna kept her hand firmly on Hermione’s arm as she stepped back. “I noticed last year how unkind Ron can be.”

It was true, her best friend was a complete arse to Luna on every occasion. Her irritation at him intensified. “Why have I ignored that about him?” she murmured to herself, and then, humbled, accepted she hadn’t been much better. 

Hermione blinked the tears from her eyes, looking at the girl beside her. “I am so sorry. I haven’t always been kind to you, either.”  
Luna’s hand slid down Hermione’s arm, taking Hermione’s hand in hers. “We see things in different ways, and I sometimes confuse willful devotion as an open mind,” said Luna, looking calm and unbothered by Hermione’s confession as she made her reply. 

Luna’s words stirred something in Hermione, but Luna continued before she could think on it further. “We can both see that Trelawny is dreadful, though.” There was an edge to Luna’s voice that Hermione had never heard before and she found herself grinning at Luna before both were smiling devilishly together.

“Do you have her again this term?” Hermione asked, forgetting her heartache for the moment.  
“No, I’ve got Firenze this year,” the other girl replied with a curious sort of smile. “He tried to help me understand how I see things, but apparently my visions aren’t something the Centaurs have encountered in a long time. I’m afraid I’ll be as wasted as Trelawney who didn’t have any direction, either.” 

Luna waited for her words to register with Hermione as the memory of her encounter with Trelawney came to mind. When the visions of corded layers had become too much for Luna, she had gone to her former teacher for help. But the woman had called Luna dangerous when Luna approached her and had backed away, her hands shaking and her glasses sliding down her nose. And then the professor had erupted with layers and cords and her voice was not her own. Luna swore that she was drowning in the blinding light that shown from the many layers tunneling out of the woman’s throat as she spoke. 

_“She will be shielded by the blood of her enemy, he by his creators… as the dust settles from death’s battle, the witch of the oak woods will covet their defense... ancient magic will unleash both darkness and light… the circle cannot be broken until the ransom of life-blood is served.”_

It was after this that Luna had self-consciously approached Firenze. Looking to the stars, he explained that hers was a gift that only presented during dire times. It was critical for her to master her gifts and find balance. He had called Luna’s gift ancient and suggested she, too, look to the stars. Firenze offered no words of comfort when she told him about what happened with Trelawney, but said only that she should move forward as if she had never heard what was said. 

Hermione looked at Luna, and felt the room grow quiet. Luna was very still, as if anticipating the harsh words; Hermione’s disbelief in divination was not a secret. Hermione sucked in air, and shook her head, before voicing the thought suddenly burning in her mind. “How did you know I would need a friendly face?” she asked, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“I saw you coming.”

Hermione was tempted to ask _how_… Had Luna seen Hermione running towards the bathroom because Luna was in the corridor, or was she alluding to something more? Hermione’s rational brain was gearing up, scoffing at the idea of divination, but her memories of encounters with Luna gave Hermione pause.

Luna smiled. “Do you dream, Hermione?”  
“Of course.”  
“I dream while I’m awake.” 

Luna held up her hand when Hermione prepared to ask more questions. “Harry is looking for you,” Luna said, leading Hermione back to the corridor.  
Sure enough, Harry was approaching the bathroom, holding Hermione’s belongings with his own. She looked at Luna thoughtfully as the girl patted her on the back.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” said Luna. “Did you know that one of your eyebrows is yellow?”  
“Hello, Luna,” Harry replied, looking somewhere between amused and exhausted. “Hermione, here are your things.”  
“Oh, yes,” said Hermione, her voice strained. She quickly took her belongings, which she had abandoned when she fled from Ron, but kept looking at Luna. With Harry’s presence, and the fact he had to deliver her possessions, all of Hermione’s hurt feelings and embarrassment returned. With a quick nod to Luna, Hermione turned to Harry. “Thank you, Harry. I think I’ll be going…”

Harry frowned as he watched her hurry away.   
“She’s a bit upset,” said Luna. “I was expecting Moaning Myrtle until I realized it was Hermione. She said some things about your friend Ron.”  
“Yeah,” Harry started, but Luna interrupted him.  
“You should talk to him. He shouldn’t be so hurtful.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to Luna, so he opted to change the subject. “How has the term been treating you?”  
“It’s a little lonely,” she said bluntly. “I miss the DA and getting to be around so many people that were like friends. Ginny makes a point to visit with me in the classes we share, but it isn’t the same.”  
Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the mention of Ginny. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he fancied Ron’s sister. And with the fact that he was jealous as hell of Dean Thomas for getting to kiss her every day.   
Luna’s words, however, which always had a way of making him feel uncomfortable, were nowhere near as bothersome to him as the thought of her feeling alone. 

“How would you like to come to Slughorn’s party with me tonight?”  
Harry liked the happy feeling that filled his chest as he watched her eyes light up and her mouth upturn in a surprised smile. He fleetingly thought of Ginny, but pushed down that sadness as he watched Luna.  
“Slughorn’s party? With you?”  
“Yeah,” he replied, feeling a genuine smile stretch his face. “We are supposed to bring a guest. I’d like you to come as my friend, Luna.”  
The answering smile on her face let him know that she understood his intentions. “I would love to go with you, as friends! No one has asked me to a party before – as friends. Should I dye one of my eyebrows a different color? Is that why yours are different?”   
Harry felt a lightness inside he hadn’t felt in a while and couldn’t help but laugh. “No,” he answered firmly while smothering his chuckle. “That was a mistake in class. I’ll get Hermione to put it right for me.”  
Her smile fell a little and he suspected it was disappointment that there would be no eyebrow alterations. “So,” he continued, “I’ll meet you at the entrance hall at eight o’clock, then?”

She nodded her head furiously, a bright smile on her face when a voice screamed above their heads. “AHA!!!”  
Harry’s heart sank at the sight of the castle poltergeist, Peeves, hanging upside down from a chandelier and grinning maliciously at them.  
“Potty looooooooooooves Loony!” he hollered repeatedly as he zoomed away, cackling and shrieking. 

Harry knew that everyone in the castle would know that he was taking Luna. His gloomy mood was surfacing again when Luna’s hand gently touched his elbow and he looked over to see her looking at him, her face unreadable. He didn’t like that her happy expression was gone, so he smiled at her and confirmed their eight o’clock meeting time that evening.

Later, as Harry sat down for dinner, his patience was tested immediately.  
“You could have taken _anyone_!” exclaimed Ron in disbelief. “_Anyone_! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”  
“Don’t call her that,” Harry said firmly, surprised to hear his exact words from Ginny’s mouth at the same time.  
Harry looked at her and smiled shyly.   
“I’m really glad you’re taking Luna,” said Ginny. She was looking him right in the eyes, and he felt his palms begin to sweat. “She’s so excited.” Ginny smiled warmly before moving down the aisle to sit next to Dean.   
Harry’s happy feeling at her approval seeped away at the sight of her sitting so closely to the other boy. He sighed and turned back to Ron, only to realize that Ron was staring at Hermione who was sitting all by herself at the end of the table.   
“You should just apologize to her, Ron,” he blurted out.  
Ron, startled, turned back to Harry. “What? And get attacked by another flock of canaries?”  
“You mocked her pretty horribly,” Harry started.  
“She laughed at my mustache!”  
“So did I, it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”  
But, Ron had stopped listening. Lavender Brown had arrived, squeezing herself between Ron and Harry and causing Harry to knock over his juice.   
She flung her arms around Ron’s neck and the two began snogging, messily.

Parvati Patil, who had arrived at the table with Lavender, sat across from Harry, looking embarrassed by her friend’s behavior. “Hi, Harry,” she said, helping Harry mop up the spilt juice and ignoring the snogging pair.   
“Hi,” he said. “How’re you? You’re staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave?”  
“I managed to talk them out of it for the time being,” said Parvati. “That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn’t been anything since…” she stopped mid-sentence and Harry followed her line of sight to find her sister, Padma, in animated conversation with Theodore Nott.   
“I didn’t know she was friends with him,” said Harry.  
“She has dated a few Slytherins. You know, her being a Ravenclaw and all, there isn’t as much animosity between their houses. Though, I didn’t know they knew each other, either.” She shrugged her shoulders, “But, again, she isn’t as suspicious of that house as we are.”   
Harry nodded his head. He tried not to think about how much of his distrust of the Slytherins had to do with how he was sorted. He continued to watch Padma and Nott when he heard Parvati strike up a conversation with Hermione. He felt a niggling sense of dread climb between his shoulders at how uncharacteristically bubbly Hermione was acting.

“Hi, Parvati!” Hermione exclaimed, leaning toward the other girl and looking at everyone at the table except for Ron and Lavender, whom she seemed to ignore completely. “Are you going to Slughorn’s party tonight?” she asked Parvati.  
“No invite,” Parvati answered, sounding disappointed. “It sounds like it is going to be really good. Slughorn went all out and, they say, he even invited a vampire! You’re going, right?”  
“Yes, I’m meeting Cormac at eight, and –”  
There was wet suction noise as Ron pulled his mouth from Lavender’s and stared at Hermione, his eyes wide. But she continued, as if unaware of his attention.  
“—we’re going up to the party together.”  
“Cormac?” said Parvati. “Cormac McLaggen?”

Harry tuned out their conversation, watching Ron react to Hermione’s news that she was dating his rival. A small part of him enjoyed that Hermione was moving on, but a larger part knew she didn’t like Cormac at all; that she was just picking someone to piss off Ron. He briefly looked over towards Ginny and saw that she was hiding a smile, obviously finding Hermione’s actions entertaining. Ginny noticed Harry looking at her and winked before rising from her seat to join Luna at the hall door. 

* * *

  
Ginny was still chuckling about Hermione’s date as she helped Luna apply the finishing touches to her hair. The two were in Luna’s shared dorm room in Ravenclaw tower and Ginny was unhappy to notice that Luna didn’t have many personal effects, though she had ample storage for such things. A hint of a memory tugged at her brain, of Harry mentioning to Hermione his helping Luna look for her missing shoes. Ginny surveyed the room more closely, planning hexes and the return of her friend’s things.  
“Are you sure you don’t want to tone down some of the material?” she asked Luna in a pleading voice as she adjusted the silver gown Luna had put together.  
But Luna, seeming oblivious, just shook her head. “I think it is quite festive, don’t you? But,” she paused, “it isn’t’ really what I imagined.”  
Ginny tilted her head at Luna. “What do you mean?”  
“I don’t like how unfinished it looks.” Luna admitted. “I’d imagined the fabric resembling a fir tree.”  
Ginny cringed. “Well, it does. A silver tree, for sure.”  
Luna nodded her head. “I wanted roses and fruit to garnish the silver fabric, but I ran out of time. So, it’s a little boring.”  
Ginny shook her head, unable to imagine what Luna wanted and feeling relief for Harry that Luna hadn’t had the time to add to her handiwork.   
“I’m sure you and Harry will have a fun evening,” Ginny said instead.  
“He would have preferred to take you, you know?”  
Ginny was taken aback. “As friends? He could have, I don’t think Dean would’ve cared.”  
Luna bit back a snort, the sound surprising a grin out of Ginny. “Okay,” Ginny amended, “He would’ve.”

While Ginny waved her wand over Luna’s hair, applying a quick charm to keep it in place, Luna watched her in the mirror. “I’m so thankful you agreed to help me. I would’ve just left my hair down and probably forgotten to brush it without you here.”  
Ginny nodded her head and stepped back from Luna. She remembered how put together Luna had always been before her mother died. “I’m really glad you asked me, actually. And I can teach you different hair styles,” she said. “If you’d like.”  
Luna looked up at her, her blue eyes bright and eager, and Ginny felt a pang. “I don’t really know how to do much, of course,” Ginny said. “My mum doesn’t bother with her own, but I know a little.”  
Without a word, Luna rose from her seat and hugged Ginny.  
“I’m going to tell you a secret,” said Luna.  
“I do love secrets,” Ginny replied with a grin.  
“The Grey Lady spoke with me at the start of term. She encouraged me to focus on things I was ignoring – that I was scared of. If she hadn’t done that, I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to believe I could have real friends. But, looking at the things she wouldn’t let me ignore, I know you’d be my friend in any lifetime.”  
Ginny smiled automatically, joyful at Luna’s confession and grateful to the ghost who was guiding her friend. “In every lifetime,” she replied, understanding her friend needed to hear the words.

With a final look in the mirror, Luna headed to the door. She looked back at Ginny and eyed the air around the other girl for a moment. Feeling disappointment that there were no layers or cords visible to guide her, Luna listened to her conscience. “He would have preferred to go with you, Ginny. Not as friends.”

Luna moved hurriedly out of the room, not turning back to see the startled look on her friend’s face. Swallowing hard, Luna took a deep breath and went to meet Harry. She descended the stairs carefully, keeping a watchful eye for nargles in the mistletoe.

As she approached the hall entrance, she was surprised to see Hermione and Cormac waiting there. She had assumed they would go up on their own, but when Hermione saw her approach, she smiled broadly and waved Luna over. Luna felt the ground shift and breathed deeply as cords like string began forming from Hermione’s shoulders and cascading down her arms, through her fingertips. Layers began emerging near Hermione, as the air crackled around Luna. She never knew when it would feel as though she were crawling through walls of dreams, with strings cording around her limbs and pulling her away. She briefly wondered if she would ever get used to the phenomenon.

Luna walked towards Hermione, disoriented by the impression that she was walking on water and that the ground could swallow her up at any moment. The air became sluggish around her, and she tried to see past the layers and the lines emanating from Hermione. Luna’s bones began to shake, and the strings begin to shift. Apparently, it hadn’t been a guarantee that she and Hermione would meet prior to the party – Luna felt apprehension settle upon her, understanding that it was her decision to confide in Hermione that had created these new layers. 

Fear began circling Luna. Since embracing her third eye, ignoring the layers had worked to pull her out of the waking dreams when she felt overwhelmed by them. But Hermione’s strings had not faded, even though Luna was attempting to look past them. Some of the cords running from Hermione’s fingers began to glow. Without thought, Luna followed the lines and watched as Harry approached the group, his eyes taking in her dress. She already knew the dress was a flop, and his expression indicated she had been correct in the thought. But he smiled at her none the less and she felt pleasure at his kindness.

Luna closed her eyes tightly for just a moment, before looking back to him. He was her safe point. She was never able to make sense of his strings… it was if his cords were battling each other. Whenever she observed them, she felt heavy and, without trying, she would inevitably pull back to this realm.

Together, the four began the trek to Slughorn’s office. Hermione looked extremely uncomfortable with Cormac, her shoulders were tight and her mouth was set in a grim line. Cormac tried to grab her hand, and when that failed, he reached for her waist and pulled her stiff form closer to him. 

Harry grit his teeth, but turned to Luna. “Did you hear, there’s supposed to a vampire coming?”  
“Rufus Scrimgeour?” Luna asked.   
Harry was distracted. He watched, uncomfortable, as Cormac hurried after Hermione who had pulled herself from his grasp and had hurried ahead without him.  
“I – what?” asked Harry, disconcerted by both Luna’s statement and by his friend’s departure. “You mean the minister of magic?”  
“Yes, he’s a …” Luna stopped. Her father had written a very long article about Scrimgeour being a vampire when Scrimgeour first took over from Fudge. And, when her father had been forced to stop the publication of the article, he excitedly said that was proof that he had been correct. 

Harry had stopped with her and he was looking at her intently.  
“Harry?” she asked. “Am I a fool to believe in my father without question?”  
Harry once again looked uncomfortable and Luna gave a quick shake of her head. “There must be wrackspurts floating about – I haven’t been feeling quite myself lately.”  
As she started to make her way up the stairs again, she felt his hand grab her wrist, then slide into her grasp.   
“I can relate to not feeling like yourself,” said Harry, “But as a good friend, I am not going to let you walk away from that question.”

Her body began to shake and the sensation of floating overcame her. She smiled softly as she watched the strings fall from her own shoulders and down to her hands, before shooting out to different layers from her fingertips. One version of herself was laughing as she raced Harry up to the party. Another version was shaking her head and running away – Luna would never do that.

She felt cold, as if she were stuck in a downpour, and looked to Harry. Again, she could make nothing of his strings. And any of hers that were glowing towards him became impossible to make out as soon as they hit the dark mass of layers and cords around him. But the string stemming from the center of her palm, horizontal from her thumb to pinky, was glowing the brightest and it seemed to connect to his hand that was still holding hers. 

“When did we become friends?” she asked, surprised at her own question. “I’m glad we are – but, when did it happen?”  
“Not as soon as it should’ve, and I’m sorry about that,” he answered quietly. “I’ve been caught up in my own head and it’s easier to just rely on Ron and Hermione.”  
“I was telling Ginny earlier about how the Grey Lady stopped me at the start of term.”  
Harry, who was used to conversations with the castle ghosts, nodded his head for her to continue.  
“She asked me if I was going to stop grasping my father’s _feeble_ descriptions of the unusual way I see the world, or if I will start remembering what my mother was teaching me before she died.”

The two had reached the top of the stairs and Harry led them to a bench below a painting of several Kneazles playing with yarn.  
“I like this painting,” Luna said as she admired the different balls of wool.

Harry was eyeing her carefully. He wanted her to continue, but she would have to do this at her own pace. He was suddenly struck at how different she looked tonight. Her hair had been pulled back away from her face and seemed to glow. Though it still hung loosely behind her back, some strands had been braided into a crown around her head. 

She smiled at him. “Ginny’s doing.”  
Harry was confused by her words. “What?”  
“Ginny did my hair tonight. And helped me finish my dress. Although, she was hoping I would go for something less flamboyant.”  
“But that wouldn’t be you,” Harry said. “And I wanted to go with you.”

Luna beamed at this and looked at him. Her eyes flickered for just a moment and she shook her head, as if shaking water from her ears. “Are you prepared that your friends will surprise you?”  
He looked at her questioningly.   
“Because it is going to start happening soon,” she added.  
“Do you mean Ron and Hermione?”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you think they will actually get together? I don’t honestly know what I think about that. It might fix things, but it might make things worse.”  
Luna hummed quietly and started swinging her ankles under the bench. “I don’t just mean them, Harry.”  
Harry grunted and leaned forward on his knees. “Can’t you just be blunt tonight? I like it when you’re blunt with your uncomfortable comments and I don’t have to guess as to what you mean. I can’t tell if this is you being you or if is just a common trait with all girls to confuse me.”  
“I am a girl, Harry. In case you hadn’t noticed.”  
“See, you sound like Hermione, there.”  
“She is my friend, too. I think.”  
Harry was silent. He honestly didn’t know.  
“What were you saying about the minister?” he asked her instead.  
Luna stilled for a moment before releasing a, surprisingly bitter, snigger. “Should we ask him if he is a vampire if we ever meet him?”  
Harry was surprised into his own laugh and, as it faded, they sat quietly together.

“I miss my mother every day.”  
Harry nodded his head. He couldn’t really remember his parents, but he missed them, too. And Sirius.   
Luna reached out and squeezed his hand. “Tonight, when Ginny was helping me with my hair, I remembered my mother doing the same. I hadn’t had a clear memory of my mother for so long.”  
Harry squeezed her hand back and they sat some more.

“So,” Harry said after the moment had passed, “should we make our way to the party? I am sure Hermione could use some help with her date.”  
“Why didn’t you and Hermione go as friends?” Luna asked.  
Harry chuckled. “That probably would’ve been a better evening for her, but I’m glad it worked out this way. I like getting to know you.”  
“I am glad I was your third choice and not your fourth,” Luna replied.

It wasn’t until Slughorn came to greet them that Harry grasped her math. 


	11. Uninvited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _The Unbreakable Vow_, the fifteenth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.
> 
> TW: indications of substance abuse, discussion of sexual situations, #metoo, depictions of violence

Theodore Nott stared in shock at the dozens of vials of potions in Draco’s trunk. They were hidden under a false bottom, but knowing his friend as he did, it had been easy to guess the decoy would be there. Quickly, before Draco came looking for him, he replaced the bottom and grabbed the box he had come for. He had hoped to find clues as to what his friend was up to for the Dark Lord, but the potions were all he had discovered.

Theo was confident most of the vials contained Invigoration Draught, harmless if taken in moderation. But the number of vials with just drops of the orange liquid remaining scared him. And he wasn’t certain what the bubbling, mud-like concoction was in the remaining vials.

Casually, he made his way to the common room and found his friend sitting by the fire, a letter in his hands. It appeared to be the same letter he had received that morning and that had put him in a darker mood. Draco looked awful. His skin was grey and loose and his eyes were swollen, but he looked up at Theo with a faint smirk.

“Did you find them?” asked Draco.  
“I did.” Theo knew that Draco was asking about the cuff links in the box he’d retrieved, but his thoughts remained firmly on the cache of bottles. “Thanks, Draco. These’ll work great tonight.”  
“How long do you think Slughorn’s party will last?” Draco asked, his eyes back on the letter in his hand.  
“Why? Gonna miss me?”  
“Just Daphne. I’m not really sure why she asked you.”  
“Jealous?” quipped Theo, realizing too late that Draco probably was, just for different reasons. It was obvious to everyone in Slytherin that Draco was unhappy with his lack of status with the new Potions professor. 

“I thought you liked Pansy,” Draco said, swiftly moving the conversation in a different direction as he set his letter aside.  
“I do. I’m hoping Daphne will help me along with that.”  
A sneer settled on Draco’s face. “You do realize that Pansy has the hots for Daphne’s little sister, who has the hots for you?”  
Theo cringed. Astoria’s pining looks were embarrassing. “I am aware,” he bit out. “In fact, Pansy is pretty put off at me because of it. As if it’s my fault.”

Draco smirked at his friend. “Do you know who Blaise is taking?”  
Theo looked at Draco, realizing he didn’t actually know. The expression on Draco’s face made Theo nervous. “No,” he answered. “Who?”  
“Astoria.” Draco’s eyes were bright with mischief and Theo opted to let him have his fun. He hadn’t seen the expression on Draco in a long time.  
Groaning, Theo fell into the other chair by the fire. “Was I set up?”  
Draco laughed quietly.

“Really, though, do you have any idea how long this will last?” Draco asked again.  
Theo glanced at Draco, trying to determine why he would care. “Probably past midnight. Why?”  
“I just want to get some more work done on my task…” Draco answered quietly. “I don’t want to run into any party goers on my way there or back.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me what you’re doing?”  
Draco just stared at Theo, making the question rhetorical.  
Frustrated, Theo bit back his questions regarding the vials. He already knew why Draco had the Invigoration Draughts. Whatever this messed up task was, Draco was afraid of failing. Anger bubbled in Theo. Anger at his father. At Lucius. At Draco, too. 

Theo looked to the letter Draco had cast aside. “News from home?” he asked.  
“More like riddles without any clues.” Draco grabbed the letter and, crumpling it, tossed it into the fire.   
Theo sighed. His friend’s dark moods were commonplace this year. 

“Padma has been asking about you,” said Theo, watching Draco.  
“What does she want?”  
“She’s worse than Pansy pretends to be, you know. She’s obsessed with you. Why the hell did you date her, again?”  
Draco shrugged and continued to stare at the fire. “I thought she was the other one; the one Potter took to the Yule Ball.”  
Theo snorted. “You thought you were nicking her from Potter? You, lazy sod! Padma went with Weasley – which means,” Theo struggled through his laughter, “you had the Weasel’s seconds!”

Theo’s laugh quickly became a grunt and he grabbed his crotch. Draco had hit him with a stinging hex, a frown etched on his pale face. “What did the daft bird want?”  
Still clutching himself, Theo looked darkly at Draco. “Tosser,” Theo grunted and slowly stood up. “I’m not your messenger. Go ask her yourself.”

As Theo delicately walked away, he looked back at his friend and was not surprised to see that Draco was already looking into the fire, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. “Draco?” He waited a moment, but Draco was lost to him. “Sleep tonight,” he pleaded quietly, disappointed that there was no sign Draco had heard him. 

Shaking his head, Theo made his way to the hall entrance. His confusion about meeting Daphne there instead of just walking with her from the common room faded when he saw her waiting with her sister, Astoria, and Blaise. Yes, he had definitely been set up. 

Daphne smiled at him, no hint of remorse on her face. He smirked, ready to see how the sisters played this one out tonight. He was confident he would find his date in Blaise’s arms by the end of the evening, and himself responsible for Astoria. Shaking his head again, he looked at Astoria and wasn’t surprised that she was staring at him. 

Theo held his arm out to Daphne before she had a chance to slide over to Blaise and the four made their way up to Slughorn’s office. He was pleasantly surprised by the décor, having expected to feel crowded in just the professor’s office. But it was clear that enchantments had been put in place to allow the room to appear much larger than it was. It was decorated with emerald, gold and crimson drapes on the walls and ceilings, creating the illusion of an elaborate circus tent. And there was a red hue to the room. As he examined the light fixture hanging from the ceiling, he realized that there were real fairies fluttering about.

His study of the room was brought to an abrupt halt, however, when a mass of curly hair came into his line of sight and he had to step back to keep from inhaling any of the wisps. Hermione Granger stood in front of him, a panicked look on her face, and she quickly looked around the room.   
“Granger,” said Theo. “Your hair is in my way.”  
She merely rolled her eyes at him, unperturbed by his uninspired insult.   
“Nott,” she acknowledged. “I didn’t know you were in the Slug Club.”  
“He’s not,” piped in Astoria. “He came with my sister.”  
Hermione nodded and gave Astoria a pleasant smile, though it was obvious she hadn’t been listening. Her smile, however, was genuine and surprised Theo. He noticed that Astoria also seemed at ease around the Gryffindor.  
“Do you two know each other?” he asked.  
Astoria nodded her head and beamed. “Hermione’s been tutoring me in Charms.”  
Hermione smiled again before, with a startled squeak, she hurried away, mumbling apologies behind her.

Daphne’s laugh rang through the room. “I think she’s grown on me. It might be her helping Astoria, here, but her awkward mannerisms aren’t nearly so annoying anymore.”  
“Do you know why she’s so anxious tonight?” Theo asked, entertained as the two sisters giggled together.  
“She’s here with the Gryffindor, Cormac McLaggen,” said Astoria. “Some ridiculous attempt to make Ronald Weasley jealous.”  
“I thought she was dating Potter,” said Blaise, sending Daphne and Astoria into another set of giggles.  
“Oh, Blaise,” said Daphne. “She’s been interested in Weasley for ages, now. Potter only keeps her around so he doesn’t flunk out.”  
“And Weasley is dating that chav, Lavender Brown,” interjected Astoria. “Which, if rumors are true, is because he’s jealous he was the only one in their little gang who hadn’t kissed anyone, yet.” Astoria and Daphne were laughing uproariously, completely absorbed in their gossip.

Curios as to whether or not she had escaped her date, Theo began looking for the bookworm while the girls continued their discussion.   
“That’s the reason you don’t hate her, isn’t it?” Astoria was saying to Daphne. “She’s successfully torturing the boy.”  
“It’s funny,” said Daphne, “how upset he was by her lack of confidence in his Quidditch skills. Who could blame her? I don’t know how he managed to play so well. And now his poor little feelings are hurt.”

“And the swat is on the run from another Gryffindor berk,” added Blaise in a bored tone, looking at Daphne intently. “As entertaining as your chinwag is, I’m ready to dance. Care to join me?”   
Blaise held his hand out to Daphne and the two were on the dance floor immediately. 

Theo, resigned, looked to Astoria. She was smiling demurely, batting her eyelashes and leaning towards him so her small cleavage was on display. Word would spread that they were dating if he spent the majority of the party with her and that was not the kind of attention he wanted from Pansy.   
“I was hoping your sister would help me get together with one of her friends…” he stated, trying to sound nonchalant. “Would you be willing to help me since she’s abandoned me?”  
He swallowed hard and watched her smile fade. She looked at him and her eyes narrowed. “You could’ve just said you’re not interested, Theodore Nott.”  
He nodded his head. “I’m not too smooth with the ladies, thus the need of some help.”  
“No kidding,” she snarled and turned away from him, hurrying over to a group of girls by the punch bowls. 

As he watched her leave, he caught sight of Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood talking quietly together while Potter, looking miserable, was stuck in a conversation with Professor Slughorn. Theo found himself almost feeling sorry for the Boy Who Lived, but shrugged it off. No matter how grateful he was that his father wasn’t around, it was still Potter’s fault the man was in Azkaban. He wanted his father out of his life, not a tortured soul in that hellish place.

As if sensing his stare, Luna Lovegood looked over at him and smiled. Not sure what made him do it, Theo sauntered over to the two girls and nodded in greeting at Luna.   
“Luna, right?” he asked, and smirked at the rapid bobbing of her head. Granger and Potter sure did pick the strangest friends.   
“Your date is upset with you,” said Luna.   
Hermione looked at him. “What’d you do to Astoria?” she asked.   
He bit his lip and looked over to the punch bowls, but Astoria was gone. “I didn’t really know how to tell her I wasn’t interested,” he said, choosing not to remind the know-it-all that Astoria wasn’t actually his date.   
Suspecting that she was finding herself in the same boat, he whispered conspiratorially to her, “I wouldn’t recommend asking your date to help you get someone else’s attention.”

Hermione felt her eyes widen and a laugh fall out of her mouth. “No,” she chuckled, “I don’t suppose that would be a good plan at all.”   
Before Theo could provide any more helpful hints, Harry had managed to pull himself away from Slughorn. “Nott,” he ground out, but his sour expression quickly changed to one of surprise when Luna poked him in the arm with her index finger and shushed him.   
Hermione and Theo stared at her for a moment before they were laughing and Theo bit out a pleasant sounding “Potter” in response.

“Have you found yourself a new date?” Harry asked Hermione, confusing her momentarily.  
“Theo just came over to say hello,” Hermione answered, deciding quickly that the Slytherin’s company was far preferable to Cormac’s. She would not let Harry scare him away.

“Why don’t you two go dance together?” suggested Luna. “Neither Harry or I like it much, and you two are both missing your partners.”  
Hermione suddenly felt shy, but before she could refuse, Theo spoke up. “I’d be happy to dance with Granger, but I think you and Potter should join us on the floor so our dates don’t get the wrong ideas.”  
It was smooth, Hermione admitted to herself. He hadn’t insulted her, and while he made it clear there was no interest, still agreed to dance with her. Feeling less shy, and because she loved to dance, Hermione held her hand out to Theo and gave Harry a pointed look.   
“I do a lot for you, Harry. I want to dance.”  
“We could just dance together,” said Harry.  
“That wouldn’t be very nice to Luna, here, would it?” Theo put in.

Taking Hermione’s hand, Theo led her to the dance floor, and she was surprised to see that Harry did the same for Luna. It was clear that Luna had been spot on when she said that neither of them enjoyed the activity, but just as Hermione was about to have mercy and say they could stop, Theo started to laugh.  
“Merlin, you two are stiff.”  
Harry glared while Luna nodded her head. “I agree, Theo,” she said. “Should we move our arms more?”

To Hermione’s horror, Luna started waving her arms above her head in a circular motion and moving her hips back and forth. But Theodore Nott, Slytherin pureblood and son of a notorious Death Eater, just laughed and joined her.  
“Why not?” Theo asked. “This party is boring, anyway.”  
And Hermione found herself laughing at her dance partner and Luna. Looking at Harry, and shrugging her shoulders, she joined in the odd dance and was pleased when Harry did the same, a reluctant grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” a female voice cut in.  
Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini had approached their little group and were staring at them.   
“Dancing with some Gryffindors,” said Theo, looking at Daphne as if his answer was obvious.  
“I’m in Ravenclaw,” Luna said lightly, smiling at Daphne and waving.  
“And a Ravenclaw,” Theo amended with a nod of his head. “Care to join us?” he asked Daphne.  
“Where is my sister?” she replied tightly.  
“I’ve no idea. It wasn’t very nice of you two to ditch your dates,” replied Theo with a mocking note to his voice.

Hermione hadn’t realized that Astoria wasn’t his date, but it made sense. Zabini and Daphne had both been at Slughorn’s dinners in the past, but she couldn’t recall ever having seen Theo or Astoria. 

Blaise was looking nervously at Daphne, but surprisingly, Daphne just smiled brightly.   
“No,” she said, “I don’t suppose it was.”  
Theo smiled back and asked again, “So, are you gonna dance with us?”  
“Can you even call this dancing?” Daphne laughed, but raised her arms in the air and started bopping her hip with Luna’s.

Tension, that Hermione hadn’t even realized had settled on her shoulders, eased away and she looked over to Harry. He was obviously confused by the situation, so she smiled at him. His nervous smile back was reassuring.  
“I think I’ll go look for Astoria,” said Blaise, looking more uncomfortable than Harry, as he rushed away.  
“Ugh. I’m so glad he left,” Daphne said to the four of them. “He’s surprisingly boring.”

Hermione, feeling lighthearted, continued moving in the bizarre dance until she saw that Luna wasn’t smiling anymore. She was looking at Hermione, her eyes wide, and her hand was reaching out in front of her as if she were trying to grab something.   
“Luna?” she asked softly, but her eyes couldn’t connect with the other girl’s. The uneasy feeling Hermione had felt when in the bathroom with Luna returned.  
None of the rest of their group appeared to notice Luna’s behavior, but then, Hermione saw that Harry was looking past all of them. Turning to see what the issue was, she was startled by both Cormac and Draco Malfoy being dragged by their ears by the caretaker, Argus Filch. Filch escorted them to Professor Slughorn who was standing with a small cluster of guests that included an ever-scowling Professor Snape.

“Professor Slughorn,” wheezed Filch, his face alight with anticipation,” I discovered these boys lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out,” he said, pointing to Malfoy. “And this one says he lost his date and went looking for her,” he said, pointing to Cormac. “Did you issue them with invitations?”  
Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch’s grip, looking furious.  
“All right, I wasn’t invited!” he said angrily. “I was trying to gate-crash, happy?”  
“No, I’m not!” said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. “You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the headmaster say that nighttime prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?”  
“That’s all right, Argus, that’s all right,” said Slughorn, waving a hand. “It’s Christmas, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay, young men.”  
“I was invited!” Cormac stuttered and looked directly at Hermione, but she wasn’t paying any attention to him.

Hermione was, instead, watching Draco, startled that he looked just as unhappy about the prospect of staying as Filch looked at having lost his prey. But Malfoy’s upbringing seemed to take hold and he began thanking Professor Slughorn for the generosity. She quickly looked over at Harry and noticed that he was not looking at Malfoy, but at Professor Snape. 

Turning back to the professor she saw, for the briefest of moments, Snape had looked afraid. It unsettled Hermione. Why was Draco disappointed about staying and why was Snape fearful? Harry’s suspicions that something was going on with Malfoy were gaining more weight, and something about that upset her greatly. 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered to her. “Malfoy really does look sick. I hadn’t believed you when you mentioned it after your run-in with him, but there’s something wrong with him.”

Daphne moved forward, her head high, and she grabbed Malfoy by the arm and pulled him towards them.   
“How delightful, Draco,” she said, “that you get to join us!”  
Professor Snape pursed his lips and looked pointedly at Malfoy. “I’d like a word with you Draco,” he said suddenly.  
“Oh, now, Severus,” said Slughorn, hiccupping, “it’s Christmas, don’t be too hard on the boy.”  
Draco stared at their DA professor, but Theo grabbed him further into their peculiar circle. Cormac stayed back, looking cross.  
“You will absolutely hate this dance we’ve been doing!” Theo said to Draco. “And with who! Come on!”  
Hermione, uncertain how to handle the two Slytherins calling over her and Harry’s arch enemy, looked over to Harry, but he was still focused on Malfoy. Turning back to Luna she saw that she, too, was focused on Draco. Luna’s eyes were still not quite focused, but she no longer looked alarmed.

Snape was not deterred by Theo and Daphne’s efforts. He walked in to the middle of the gathered students and looked directly at Malfoy. “I’m his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be,” said Snape curtly. “Follow me, Draco.”

As Draco made his way from their small circle, he came face-to-face with Hermione. His eyebrows shot up in startled confusion and he looked back to Theo and Daphne, before turning to her again. She felt immense sorrow at the state he was in. His eyes were swollen from, she assumed, lack of sleep; his demeanor slumped and worn down. But those eyes, which were always such a striking crystal shade, were boring right into hers. She saw it, then; and it surprised her. Shame. He was ashamed.

But of what?

She watched as he shook his head as if clearing his thoughts and quickly walked around her to follow Professor Snape out of the party. Hermione heard briefly murmured apologies from Harry who was telling Luna he needed the bathroom. A lie, Hermione could tell, having known him so well for so long. He was off to snoop on Draco, again. Off to prove him of some sort of wrongdoing.

Turning to go after him, she saw Cormac approaching her. Before he could reach her, however, he was stumbling forward, landing face first on the floor. Luna was looking down at him, her foot angled out where he had been walking. Surprised, Hermione looked up to see Luna already watching her.   
“He needs you! Go!” Luna whispered urgently.

Hermione required no further encouragement. Side-stepping a moaning Cormac, she hurried after Harry. Rushing past numerous guests, Hermione burst into the hallway and tried to locate the dark-haired boy. She had no idea which way he had gone and the noises from the party prevented her from locating him by sound. 

There were only classrooms down the corridor and no sign of Harry, so she made her way to the staircases. Just as she had turned the corner, she heard the distant bang of a door hitting the castle wall and she turned around. Afraid that it was Filch, she considered hurrying back to the party, but the sounds of hurried feet stopped her. Whoever it was, if she could hear them over the party, they were almost upon her.

Draco Malfoy turned the corner suddenly, his face red with anger. He jumped slightly when he saw her, and he reached for his wand holster. She quickly went for hers, but he had already stopped, recognition apparent on his face. She waited for his sneer, and he didn’t disappoint.

But there was no nasty comment. She waited, transfixed once more by his agitated state, and watched as that sneer fell from his face and he looked at her in return. 

He moved forward as if to walk around her once more that evening and she stepped aside to give him room. But, unbidden, Luna’s words echoed in her ears: _“He needs you!”_

“I never would have imagined you a gate-crasher,” she said to his retreating form and watched him still.

“Do you imagine me often?” replied Draco.  
He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable.  
She shook her head, recalling his use of inuendo to get rid of her last time. 

And then she remembered who he had been brought in with. Memories of Andrew surfaced and she suddenly had to know what Draco was doing with Cormac.   
“Why were you with Cormac McLaggen?” she asked.

Draco blinked and then squinted at her. “Is that who that was?” he asked, his tone mild. “He was on the pull and wouldn’t shut up about getting his knob in some fanny.” She felt sick and realized his sneer was back. “Said his witch’s jubblies were on the small side, but he was randy for some growler.”  
“Are you making that up to shock me?” she asked, stamping down her hurt.  
“He’s obviously an idiot,” Draco continued. “Your tits aren’t that small. You just hide them under your robes.”

He was making his way towards the stairs leading down towards the dungeons, when Hermione called out to him again.   
“Why were you with him, Malfoy?”

She couldn’t hide the nervous energy in her voice. Perhaps that was what made him actually stop.   
“He was in my way. I had places to be and he wouldn’t shut up about you. I doubt Filch would’ve even caught me if it hadn’t been for that simpleton.”  
“Did he really say all of that?”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned towards the stairs again.  
“Malfoy!” she called, but he kept going. “Malfoy!” she said again. “What’s happening to you?”

He stopped. Slowly, he turned around and stared at her, disbelief on his face.  
“What was that, Granger? I’m sure I misunderstood you.”  
“I don’t know why, Malfoy, but it scares me how different you are.”

He moved so fast, she barely had time to take in a breath. He was at her side in an instant. “Is that pity I hear coming out of your mouth?” he hissed.  
She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly.   
“It sounds like pity to me,” said Draco. He put his hands on her upper arms and pushed her backwards until her back hit the banister.  
Hermione felt her stomach drop.   
“Don’t ever feel sorry for me. I am the son of Lucius Malfoy. The grandson of Abraxas Malfoy. I’m the last of the line and the future head of the next generation. I will not be pitied.”  
He leaned into Hermione and kept pushing her backwards. His grip on her biceps prevented her from retrieving her wand and, looking down to the floor below, she was afraid. 

Hermione turned her face back to him and remembered the shame she had seen from him earlier.   
“You aren’t a little boy, anymore,” she bit out, her breath ragged. “We aren’t children. I know how smart you are. I know how talented you are. I don’t believe you’re impressed by Voldemort.”

He pushed back away from her, unsettled. But his movement had put her off-balance.   
He grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him.  
“This is much bigger than the Dark Lord,” he ground out and shoved her towards the corridor. “And I have been raised since birth to know my place in this world. And yours.”

“Are you so rooted in your beliefs, you’d stand with a madman?” she snapped.

He looked as if she had slapped him. With wide eyes, he took a step back. “I must stand with my patriarch,” he whispered. “I must protect my family.”  
“And I must protect mine!” Hermione yelled at him. “I don’t believe we have to be on opposite sides to do that.”

Draco laughed. It was a bitter sound. “You and your books and your answers. But you are so bloody naïve, Granger. Go back home. Go back to your world.”  
“Go back to my world?” she cried. “This is my world, Malfoy! I have just as much right to be here as you!”

But he was already leaving, his voice floating up the stairs and away from his descending body. “Leave it,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to be a part of this.” His words sounded more like a confession than a statement.

Hermione watched him until he was out of sight and then turned back to the party. As she slowly walked to Slughorn’s office, she realized he hadn’t called her Mudblood. Not once.

A few steps from the door, she stopped. Further down the corridor, Hermione saw the crumpled form of Luna sitting on the floor. She hurried over to her.  
“Luna!” she called out. “Luna? Are you alright?”  
Tears were shining in the girl’s eyes. “He won’t listen to me. I don’t know how to do this.”  
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.  
Luna looked towards her, but Hermione once again felt that Luna wasn’t really looking at her.

“Harry is convinced Draco is a Death Eater,” Luna said quietly.  
Hermione sighed and sat down beside her. “I know.”  
“His anger isn’t his own.”  
Hermione waited. She was honing her patience when it came to Luna.  
“I can’t explain it,” Luna said. “I don’t know how to explain when I don’t even understand what I’m seeing. Maybe it’s wrackspurts. Maybe it’s not.”

Luna’s sadness was gut-wrenching. Hermione felt lost and afraid, and reached out and held Luna while the blonde silently cried.  
“He is headed down a dangerous path,” Luna whispered.  
Hermione could only nod her head.

“Did you find him?” Luna asked  
“Hmm?”  
“Draco? Did you find him?”  
Hermione chuckled softly, accepting Luna’s unusual perception of things. “Yes.”  
Luna breathed deeply and pulled away from Hermione. “I need help figuring this out, Hermione. Trelawney won’t… or can’t. Firenze can’t… or won’t,” Luna said.

“Figuring what out?” Hermione asked quietly.  
Luna looked at her for a long time before a small, scared smile graced her face. “How to use my Third Eye.”

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded her head. A part of her had felt this coming all day. “I probably won’t be very helpful. I don’t really believe in divination.”  
“I’m hoping that’s why you’ll be the best help.”

Hermione looked at Luna. “Then let’s figure it out together.”  
And, for the second time that day, they smiled devilishly together.


	12. Disruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _A Very Frosty Christmas_, the sixteenth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.
> 
> TW: allusions to being drugged/manipulated

The madness of the Burrow on Christmas Eve night was among the most magical things in the wizarding world, Harry thought. Garden gnomes disguised as angel toppers. Absurd and awful music warbling out of the large wooden wireless set. Paper-chain decorations covering every surface and corner of the room. And the voices of the Weasley family, mingling with those of their friends, dancing along the air with the aromas of Mrs. Weasley’s extraordinary cooking. 

But the magic of the evening couldn’t lessen the weight Harry carried in his chest. So much had happened before he left Hogwarts for Winter Break at the Burrow. His following Snape and Malfoy provided proof he had been right all along: Draco Malfoy was up to something. But he’d argued with Luna, and now any time he thought of her, there was pressure behind his eyes. Ignoring the uncomfortable feelings, he focused on finding an opportunity to talk to Mr. Weasley about what he’d heard, and found it when discussing the Ministry’s efforts to bring down Voldemort.   
“I know Dumbledore’s tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan…” Mr. Weasley told Harry, concerning Stan Shunpike, the Knight Buss conductor whom Harry had met his third year. “I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees that he’s about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma…” he said, holding up the fruit he’d been peeling. “But the top levels want to look as though they’re making some progress, and ‘three arrests’ sounds better than ‘three mistaken arrests and releases’ … but, again, this is all top secret.”  
“I won’t say anything,” said Harry. Momentarily quiet, he tried to find the best way to tell Mr. Weasley about Malfoy and Snape’s conversation.

“Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?” He had convinced Mr. Weasley to investigate Malfoy Manor for dark artifacts because of another bout of eavesdropping before school. He swallowed the guilt. His evening with Luna had ended badly when she had discovered his spying.

_“The bathroom is in the other direction, Harry,” she said, her expression calm._  
_“I was trying to figure out what Malfoy’s up to,” said Harry truthfully, excited to share what he’d discovered.  
_ _“You mean that you were snooping on a conversation that didn’t involve you?”_

_Harry just stared at her.  
__“You’re so angry, Harry. I understand that Draco is your rival, but why do you hate him?”  
__“He’s a Death Eater!” blurted Harry, shocked at her question. “And I was right! He’s been up to something all year and he won’t even tell Snape what it is! I know he’s working for Voldemort – and they’re all responsible for Sirius’s death: for my parents’ deaths! How could I not hate any of them?”  
__“That darkness isn’t you.”_  
_“This isn’t darkness. It’s the need to do what’s right. I have to make things right!”_  
_ “Payback won’t make things right, Harry. I’m scared you’ll lose yourself in this blind drive to pull Draco down and of who’ll be hurt along the way.”_

_He turned from her, frustrated that she didn’t understand. “You don’t know me well enough to butt into this, Luna,” he said, content with the bite of his words. “I’ll walk you to your dorms. Stay away from Malfoy. And the other Slytherins. What were you thinking? – Inviting them over?”  
_ _“Theo came on his own. And he was kind to me. To Hermione. To you.”_

_Harry’s irritation spiked. How dare Nott be nice. How dare he put doubt on his mistrust of the Slytherins. “I’m sure he was up to something,” Harry said._  
_“Why?”_  
_“He’s a snake.”_  
_“You have to stop doing this,” said Luna, her voice forceful. “You’re so caught up in the stigmas of our houses, you aren’t looking at who we all are! Draco is the mirror of you, Harry, not the opposite.”_  
_Harry huffed, incensed. _  
_Luna continued. “I think I’ll find my own way back. Theo might even walk me part of the way. He’s my friend, too.”_  
_The hurt he felt to hear her turn him away shocked him.  
_ _“Harry,” she murmured. “My question’s still the same… Why? Why is Draco doing what he’s doing?”_

_“I should never have told you what I heard, Luna,” said Harry. He resented her inability to understand. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this again, what with everything that happened at the ministry last year… But, please, stay away from the Slytherins. You’re too nice. You’ll trust them and they’ll hurt you.”_  
_Luna looked at him sadly and remained where she stood when he turned away from her again. _  
_“Harry.”_  
_He stopped, but wouldn’t look at her. _  
_Luna paused, as if weighing her words, and in a pained voice said, “Poison can seep into your life in many forms. Antidotes aren’t always easy to find.”  
_ _Shaking his head, he continued walking away from her, disconcerted by how cold the halls felt without her by his side._

“I checked Harry,” Mr. Weasley was saying. “I searched the Malfoys’ house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn’t have been there.”  
“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes and bringing his attention back to the topic at hand. “I saw in the _Prophet_ that you’d looked… but this is something different… Well, something more. I overheard Snape and Malfoy right before break. Snape was accusing Malfoy of having something to do with the curse on Katie Bell, but Malfoy denied it. Then Snape tried to use legilimency on Malfoy, but I guess Bellatrix has been teaching him Occlumency. It was strange, Mr. Weasley,” Harry continued, noticing that Remus Lupin was listening, too. “Malfoy’s always been respectful with Snape, almost as if he liked him, but he was nasty to him that night. He’d been ignoring Snape all term. And Snape kept asking him what he was hiding from their master… and,” Harry hesitated. He’d told Ron earlier what he’d heard. Ron’s shock at Snape’s actions fueled Harry’s mistrust of the man. “Apparently,” he continued, “Snape made the Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy’s mum. He tried to use that to get Malfoy to tell him what he’s been up to all term, but Malfoy said that he’s got a plan and that Snape should stop trying to steal the glory. Then Snape told him that he needed to get better at pretending; that it was his own ability to act that had gotten him so far over the years…”

Mr. Weasley looked to Remus before addressing Harry. “Has it occurred to you that Snape was simply pretending –?”  
“Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy’s up to?” said Harry quickly. He and Ron had both predicted that would be their conclusion. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that. But how do we know?”

But the only answer the two men would provide, was to trust Professor Dumbledore. Even Lupin defended Professor Snape, arguing that the man may be selfish, but he wasn’t evil. The evening did provide Harry with more details of Voldemort’s movements, however. The Death Eaters were soliciting the werewolves, and Dumbledore had sent Lupin to spy. 

“I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who can do it better than I?” said Lupin. “However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing – and sometimes killing – to eat.”  
“How come they like Voldemort?”  
“They think that under his rule, they will have a better life,” said Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there…”  
“Who’s Greyback”  
“You haven’t heard of him?”

The tale that followed would haunt Harry for the rest of his life. Greyback was a disgusting creature; savage and feral. Harry couldn’t deny the fear he felt at the thought of ever crossing the foul werewolf that had turned Lupin.

Harry’s disappointment mounted when Lupin had no information on the owner of his Potions book. The Half-Blood Prince, whose detailed notes made Harry a star performer in the class, remained a mystery. Any chance of convincing Hermione to stop nagging him to get rid of the helpful resource was still out of reach. 

It was with thoughts of werewolves, Stan Shunpike, Snape and the Half-Blood Prince that Harry fell into a fitful sleep that night. His head was filled with images of children running from werewolves, of Hermione setting his Potions book on fire and of Luna, sad and fading from his grasp.

“She’s got to be kidding…”  
Ron’s voice startled Harry awake the next morning. Putting on his glasses, he surveyed the room. There was a stocking lying over the end of his bed and the tiny window was almost completely obscured with snow. But it was Ron’s expression that captured Harry’s attention. 

Ron was absolutely horrified as he examined the thick gold chain in his hands. It was the most tacky and unattractive piece of jewelry he had ever seen. A charm dangled from the chain. In large, bubbly gold letters were the words:

_My Sweetheart_

Harry was laughing on his bed. “Nice,” said Harry. “Classy. You should definitely wear it in front of Fred and George.”  
Ron cringed. The amount of merciless torture his brothers would throw at him if they knew about this. “If you tell them,” he said while he shoved the offending thing under his pillow, “I – I – I’ll –“  
“Stutter at me?” asked Harry. 

Ron barely heard him, so consumed in the knowledge that Lavender Brown was actually his girlfriend. He hadn’t dreamed it up. He was, somehow, dating her. His impulsive snog with the girl had resulted in multiple repeat sessions. And he wasn’t thrilled about any more. 

He blamed Hermione for his lack of enthusiasm. “Is Hermione really going out with McLaggen?” he asked Harry.  
“I dunno,” Harry answered and then explained how their date at the party hadn’t gone very well.

Ron felt more cheerful knowing that Hermione wasn’t any more successful than he was in her relationship and, thus, he was able to have a lovely Christmas morning. Things took a sour turn during the Christmas lunch, however, when his brother Percy brought the Minister of Magic around. Of course, the tosser wasn’t there to see his family. No, he was just a kiss arse and had come over to give the minister access to Harry. 

The usual sense of jealousy had reared up when Harry received all the attention, but he pushed it back down, aware that his friend hated it. As much as he would love it himself, he wouldn’t blame Harry for the unsolicited attention. He’d learned that lesson.

On New Year’s Eve day, the twins sent an urgent message to Ron and Ginny, begging them to find a way to come help at their shop. Having opted to keep the store open to boost community spirit, there had been an overwhelming amount of business with many customers anxious for Whiz-bangs and Love Potions in time for the evening’s numerous festivities. 

Harry, who had promised Dumbledore not to leave the Burrow, offered to stay in Ron’s room and pretend the three of them were going over Quidditch strategies. The activity was known to take hours and was an excellent alibi without requiring any out-right lying. 

Ginny retrieved enough snacks for the three of them and informed her mother that they would be upstairs discussing Quidditch. Which they did, prior to her and Ron sneaking to the shop. Harry would just stay there until their return.

Ron always enjoyed coming to the twins’ shop. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to work here every day, partaking in the mayhem that his brothers produced. Not that he wasn’t excited to become an auror with Harry, just that it was enjoyable to think about a job where you could simply have fun. For his help today, Fred and George had promised Ron two Skiving Snackboxes and U No Poo, and he was eager to put some of the constipation magic to the test on McLaggen. 

It was while restocking the calendars for the upcoming year that Ron was distracted by a particular picture. The twins had gone all out with numerous themes, but it was the WonderWitch edition that had caught his eye. Some of the Wizards on the pages were… Well, Ron wasn’t quite sure what he thought, just that the photograph of Viktor Krum stirred emotions in him. He found himself thinking of snogging. His snogging Lavender. Hermione snogging Krum. His snogging...

But his daydream was interrupted as a delicate hand pulled the calendar from his.  
“Handsome, young wizards, aren’t they?” asked the witch.   
Ron’s brain stalled. He felt that he knew her, or should know her, but he couldn’t seem to look past her hood, as though his eyes kept redirecting back to her hands whenever he tried to look at her face.   
“Difficult not to imagine all the fun to be had with one of these wizards,” she continued, flipping through the months and humming a satisfied sound.

Ron, uncomfortable, just smiled. “They are pretty popular. Did you want a basket for your shopping?”  
The witch shook her head, the hood moving slowly in either direction. “Oh, no. I’ve found exactly what I’m looking for.”  
“Well, then, the register’s right over there.” 

But the witch was placing the calendar on the shelf. “I’m not interested in making a purchase, Ronald Weasley. I simply have an offer to make.”  
Something about her voice unnerved him. “How do you know my name?” he asked.  
There was a low cackle coming from beneath her hood. “The best friend of Harry Potter? Who wouldn’t know you?”

Ron couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know this woman. He glanced towards Ginny, but she had a long line of customers waiting to pay. Fred and George were in the back brewing more batches of love potions, and the other staff were all with customers.   
“What kind of offer?” he asked her.  
“Fame. Fortune,” she touched the calendar. “Love.”  
“Awfully generous of you,” he replied, confident he was in danger.

Again, he tried to look at her face, and this time there was no temptation to look away. Eyes, though blurry, were looking directly into his. Beautiful and brown, beneath dark eyebrows and thick lashes. And lips, plump and inviting. He knew there was something off about the face before him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.  
“All I ask, is that you provide me with some information.”  
“Information?” asked Ron, staring into the distorted, but familiar, brown eyes.  
“Nothing now. Just an agreement, you see, for information in the future. All it would take now is a vow, and then, you would be in the service of such power that all your dreams would come true.”

Ron felt he should resist, but couldn’t figure out why. He realized, belatedly, that there was another person with the cloaked figure. Another face hidden behind a hood. 

Before he could back away, her hand was around his wrist. “Look at me! Just promise your help, Ronald. That’s all you have to do.”  
He nodded and looked into the brown eyes once more. A wand was raised over their clasped hands, a silver band of magic winding from its tip. “Will you, Ronald, promise the information I require?”

An instinct roared up from within and he cried out “Fred! George!” and, unexpectedly, the cloaked figures were gone.  
“Ron?” Ginny yelped, startled. “Where did you come from?”  
“Where did I come from? I was right here!”

Ron looked around the room, shocked that both Fred and George were right beside him, both looking surprised.  
“Didn’t you see them? She was looking at the WonderWitch calendar, but –,” Ron stuttered. “There was something off about her. And I couldn’t make out her face, it was under a hood.”  
“Under a hood?” Fred asked slowly. “We wouldn’t have let anyone in under a hood.”  
“But they both had hoods! And they were … I don’t know – something was stopping me from looking at their faces.”  
His siblings were looking at each other, obviously bewildered by his claims.

Ron’s head was aching. “I don’t know what happened,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.  
“Maybe it was a spell or something, to confuse you?” offered Ginny.  
“Like a muggle-repelling spell?” said George, incredulous. “On wizards?”

The twins began to laugh. “Nothing triggered our sensory charms – Probably just fooled around with the Daydream Charms,” said George.  
“Nah, he’s just not used to working. Not much longer and we’ll be done for the year,” Fred put in, patting Ron on the back.  
“Get back to work Ronniekens, or there will be no U-No-Poo for you,” George added with a sly grin.  
“Or,” Fred stage-whispered to George, “a life-time’s supply just for him.”

Ron looked at Ginny and was encouraged to see she wasn’t laughing. “It really happened, Ginny.”  
She nodded her head. “Fred!” she called over to the retreating twins.  
Grinning, Fred looked at her.   
“Mind checking the wards, just to be safe?” she asked quietly.  
His smile fading, Fred nodded and looked again at Ron.

Outside, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange casually walked away, their hoods still obscuring their faces.  
“We should’ve just killed the lot of them,” Rodolphus bit out, irritation in his words. “The whole store, and then cast the Morsmordre to remind them what’s coming. Why did you have us leave?”  
“It would have been lovely to set that unsightly place ablaze. Caramelized ginger – ” Bellatrix hummed, “But his use to the Dark Lord is more beneficial.”  
“What does a boy have to offer the Dark Lord?” sputtered Rodolphus. “Your nephew is proof enough they’ve nothing to contribute.”  
“Think of the Weasley child as another Wormtail, dear husband,” she snapped. “Unexceptional magic, true, but information has its worth. And his connections to Potter, to the Order, are invaluable.”  
“Aren’t there better targets?”  
“Perhaps, you would prefer I go after Alice’s boy?” she hissed, her eyes flashing as she watched him tense beside her. “Believe me, he was my first choice, but he’s nowhere near as connected as the red-headed simpleton. If I can’t get the youngest, though, we have another already lined up.”  
Rodolphus grinned beneath his hood. “You always did prefer to have your sets.”  
Bellatrix cackled loudly before, in a whirl of black mist, they apparated away with a _pop_.

* * *

Hermione was completely absorbed in her book, unaware of the young woman approaching her. She was trying to read as much as she could regarding lucid dreaming. Her assumption was that if she and Luna could get a handle on Luna’s sleep disorder, then perhaps Luna would be able to get some decent rest and stop her disconcerting hallucinations. Hermione would easily admit that Luna was an observant girl. Most likely her eerie predictions had more to do with attention to detail and critical thinking, than her supposed third eye. Hermione almost rolled her eyes at the thought alone. 

“I dumped him,” said the approaching girl as she slung her bag on the seat beside Hermione.  
Startled, Hermione watched as Mariah Janus sat in the seat across from her. “Who?”  
Mariah sniffed and looked at Hermione as if she had grown a literal third eye. “Andrew, of course,” said Mariah. “I was originally going to claim it was because I wasn’t about to have your spoils, but the truth is, he’s a cad and both you and I are too good for him.”  
“What happened?” Hermione asked. Compliments from Mariah were ominous.  
Mariah looked surprised. “My mother told me what he did. I know you were one of the girls, just seeing how your father looks at him any time they cross paths. I can’t date someone whom I’m not sure likes me or is just waiting to snap lurid photographs of me.”  
“But, you’re you. Why wouldn’t he like you?”  
Mariah stared at Hermione and frowned. “What about me? I’m not you.”  
Her comment confused Hermione.  
The other girl laughed. Shaking her head, Mariah sighed. “Oh, Hermy. The look on your face.”   
Waving the server over, Mariah ordered refreshments. “Andrew knows you’re home for break. He even suspects today is your last day.”  
Hermione watched Mariah, and waited.  
With a half-smile, Mariah shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know where you go off to while I’m enjoying the prestige of Henrietta Barnett, and I’ve decided I don’t really care.”  
Hermione gave an undignified snort.  
With a sharp look, Mariah sipped the tea the waiter had served. “What I do know, Hermy, is that whatever your and my relationship is, Andrew is an arsehole. He got in a lot of trouble with his father. Even more from the parents of several other girls who found the courage to come forward when word of what he’d done had spread. No girl will go near him. His reputation is ruined. He can’t even find a part time job. And he blames you.”  
Hermione pulled her bag close and looked around the café.   
Mariah set her cup down. “Yes, that’s my point. He knows you’re here and he blames you for his lot in life. But the thing is, even before all this, he was always talking about you. Perhaps, instead of your usual walk home, you should call for a taxi?”  
Hermione nodded. “Yes,” she said in appreciation, “perhaps I should. Thank you.”

Mariah grabbed her bag from the opposite chair and stood. “Sometimes, I miss you.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but quickly snapped it shut. “Well, goodbye.”

Mariah hurriedly left the store, leaving a shocked Hermione in her wake. Hermione watched as she rushed down the street before turning back to Mariah’s unfinished and unpaid for dishes. Ruefully, Hermione dug through her bag for her coin purse. It must have been hard for Mariah to warn her; paying her bill was the least Hermione could do.

Checking the time, Hermione opted to walk home. It would be awhile before dusk, and truth be told, a part of her hoped to have the opportunity to show Andrew, and any vermin who tagged along, how fast she was with her wand.

She pondered Mariah’s behavior as she made the trek home. It struck her that Mariah hadn’t called her Germy. Just like Malfoy hadn’t called her Mudblood. But he had threatened her, making her think he would push her over the bannister, while Mariah had warned her about Andrew. _Malfoy warned you about the Death Eaters at the World Cup_, she thought to herself.

She slowed her pace. It was true. Buried in his insults, he had warned Harry and Ron to get her farther away from the danger. And though he threatened to push her when last she saw him, the second he feared she was in danger, he had pulled her to him before shoving her aside. He had protected her twice. 

Remembering where she was, Hermione hurried home. Opening the front door, she couldn’t help the disappointment that Andrew hadn’t happened upon her; or her upon him. She was an adult in the wizarding world now. She no longer had the trace on her wand and a mysterious case of boils to Andrew’s nether regions seemed like fair play.

She made her way to her room, furious that Andrew, whom she despised, really had been a wonderful kisser. Better than Viktor, whose plump lips seemed to cover her face. Better than handsy McLaggen who had planted his lips on hers under the mistletoe. And better than Ron appeared to be when he was glued to Lavender Brown. 

An image fluttered in her mind. Draco Malfoy had the most kissable mouth. 

She shook her head furiously. She would not be the girl who was attracted to the _bad_ boys. She would not. And although Andrew was a far worse human being in her mind because he had been raised better than that, Malfoy was a bigot and a bully. And he was much smarter than that. 

But he hadn’t called her Mudblood. And he had looked out for her well-being. Twice.

But he was a part of the reason her well-being was in danger.   
Every day of his life.

Determined to banish Malfoy from her thoughts, she sat down at her desk and, once again, pulled out her resources on sleep psychology. She may not be able to figure out what was going on with Draco Malfoy, but she was determined to help Luna with her _Third Eye._

The next day found Hermione in Professor McGonagall’s office for an independent lesson and awaiting the return of Harry, Ginny and Ronald through the Professor’s floo. The ministry had arranged a one-time connection to safely return students to the school, and their scheduled time was quickly approaching. 

“Ms. Granger, I hadn’t intended for today’s lesson to turn to fortune telling,” huffed Professor McGonagall. The two women were sitting in the chairs in front of her desk, their tomes for the session’s lesson set to the side.  
“But, Professor, that’s not what I’m meaning. I’m just curious if you put much stock in someone accessing the conscious elements of memory and volition while partaking in an ongoing dream and if that could translate as some sort precognitive or clairvoyant dream?”  
The Professor looked hard at Hermione. “Are we talking about Ms. Lovegood?”  
“Professor?” Hermione choked out, surprised.  
“Yes, I can see that we are. Well, Ms. Granger, I’m not sure what Professor Trelawney has stirred up, but Ms. Lovegood isn’t in any danger coming to terms with her magical inheritance. And as much as I distrust Divination, there are certain schools of magic that utilize, for lack of a better word, the Third Eye in a logical way. Perhaps, Ms. Lovegood’s descriptions are ostentatious, but it’s well known that her mother had a tendency towards the Oculi Somniantes, which is far different from tea leaves and crystal balls.”  
“What does Professor Trelawney have to do with this? And what is the Oculi Somniantes?”

But before Professor McGonagall could answer, the green flames of an active floo lit up and Harry scrambled out over the grate.   
“Evening, Potter,” Professor McGonagall greeted him. “Mind the carpet, please, or Filch will be in a mood.”  
“Yes, Professor,” he replied and smiled at Hermione.

A moment later, Ron followed Harry through the floo with Ginny just behind him. Hermione’s irritation at Ron returned when she saw him. She reached into her bag and pulled the letter she was to give to Harry from Dumbledore and informed Harry and Ginny of the new password to Gryffindor tower. It did not escape her notice that Ron was trying desperately to strike up a conversation with her. Entertained by his frustration, she turned back to the Professor as the other three made their way from the room.

“May I ask why you’re inquiring on Luna’s abilities?” said Professor McGonagall.   
“She’s asked for my help.”  
“In that case, we will discuss further at our next lesson.” The professor rose from her seat and jotted a note on a piece of parchment. “In the meantime, please reference this at the library. It’s the best resource on the subject. Unfortunately, it isn’t much.”

As Hermione took the parchment, the floo once again roared to life and she made her leave. She wandered the corridors, not ready to return to Gryffindor tower where she would likely run into Ron, and made her way to the Room of Requirement, fondly recalling Dumbledore’s Army. And, as though they had planned it, Draco Malfoy stood there watching her.

She stopped, unable to keep from looking at his mouth. She’d been right; his lips were kissable. She watched his smirk fall into place and waited.   
“I’m beginning to think you go out of your way to find me, Granger.”

She made no reply.   
“It really isn’t the same without you,” he said, “but, you’ll wish you’d listened to me and stayed in your own world.”  
“You’d miss me,” she said, automatically.

He looked at her sharply and sneered. “Perhaps. You’re such an easy target.”  
Hermione noted that he still looked unkempt and tired. “What are you doing that keeps you in this state?”

His sneer fell and he ran his fingers through his hair before turning away. “I admit, it’s curious what it’d be like if we were allowed to be friends. I might sleep better if I had a know-it-all in my pocket.” 

She had no idea how to respond, and once again watched him walk away before turning around and doing the same.


	13. An Afternoon in the Tomes

He should never have burned her letter. It had been months ago that she had sent it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he should have given it more attention. His pique may have cost him a useful clue. Why had she specified an Oak Tree? Would that tell him why he should trust Severus? Or how to _kill_ Dumbledore? Draco swallowed hard at the thought of his failed poison, relieved stupid Weasley had survived. 

So far, the only reference he had found to an Oak Tree and the Reeds was a muggle fable that was edited from the original Greek version with an Olive Tree. He couldn’t ask his mother; her mail was inspected by the freeloading Death Eaters. So, why had she urged him to remember an old bedtime story – and why had she changed a major component?

Agitated, Draco pushed the book across the table so hard it clattered to the floor, drawing the attention of many in the library, including the know-it-all, Granger. He glared at her and looked away, still unaccustomed to the shame that stirred his stomach when he saw her. Ever since he had learned that Moaning Myrtle was Myrtle Warren, a ghost with a distinctly non-magical name, he’d finally understood her alarming behavior. Simple research had uncovered that Myrtle had been the victim of the monster from the Chamber of Secrets. The ghostly girl who gave him comfort as he stressed over the tasks of the Dark Lord had been murdered for her heritage, or lack thereof. And, without a care, he had used the word mudblood in front of her.

“You’re actually looking worse,” said Granger as she placed the book in front of him. “I’m not sure how that’s possible.”  
It was more than curiosity that motivated her comments, he knew. She was concerned and he couldn’t deny he found that comforting.

“If it isn’t our resident bookworm. What magic are you attempting to assimilate from books, this time?” he said, refusing to linger on his thoughts.  
He watched her face as a markedly pink blush crept to her cheeks and he marveled for a brief moment at how pretty it was. Ashamed, he grit his teeth and snatched the book off the table. 

“I’m just surprised you’re reading muggle stories, Malfoy,” she retorted, biting back a smirk. “Just think what that will do to your pureblood reputation if word spreads?”  
“Listen, you, watch your tongue, or I’ll hex your teeth again!” he hissed, slamming the book down, the noise garnering stares from a few occupants around them. But her expression was his focus. Instead of looking bothered, she looked triumphant. 

He plastered a sneer on his face, anxious to see her squirm. “Or, perhaps, I’ll hang you by the ankles outside the window. Have you show off your knickers in mid-air?”  
Her triumphant face beamed brighter.

A smile still on her face, she eyed him carefully. “Oh, come now, Malfoy. We both know that you wouldn’t let that happen. It was you who made sure Ron and Harry got me away from that danger at the World Cup.”  
Careful not to react, he bit his cheek and tasted blood. A part of him was pleased she gave him his due credit, but another part wondered what else she had picked up on. “That’s a vivid imagination you have, there. If what you say is true, you owe me a debt,” he said, winking at her. “Move along and mind your own business before I decide to collect.” He waved her away with his hand and looked her over carefully, sure to make it look like a threat. And he thought of all the harm that would come to him and his family if word got to the Dark Lord that he was speaking with her.

But her words took the sneer right of his face. “Why do you hate me, Malfoy?”

Reverberating through his head, he heard his father’s voice. _“Mudblood._” Over and over again, the horrid word danced in his mind. In Bellatrix’s voice. The Dark Lord’s. In Carrows’ and Travers’ and Yaxley’s.  
_“You foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach!”_ echoed her voice over their insults, scattering the hateful voices.

Draco stared at her, uncertain, before a single thought surfaced. He didn’t hate her. Not really. She wasn’t a pureblood. She didn’t belong here. But… she did. Her magic was unquestionable. Unless…  
“Did you steal your magic?” he asked, unaware he voiced it aloud until the question left his mouth.

“No,” she answered, her voice just a breath of air.

Such a simple word.  
And he believed her.   
He looked at her and saw a girl. Someone who annoyed him. Who made him angry when she bested him. Who had managed to make friends with Harry Potter. Someone he had been acquainted with for years, and who he knew well enough to know wasn’t lying. And he knew himself well enough to know that he had already known the answer to his question. She was a witch. A muggle-born witch of exceptional talent. She was likely better than him, a pureblood from strong lines of magic. 

And he had called her a mudblood for years. Because his father did? Because he was jealous? Or angry?

Overwhelmed, Draco pushed from the table and walked away, his chair falling to the floor with a loud clang and the door to the library closing with a thud behind him. 

Hermione shook her head, her smile gone. There was no question about it now; Draco Malfoy had doubts. The question was, what could she do about it? There were so many things that she wasn’t certain what to do about. Harry and the Half Blood Prince. Ron having finally dumped Lavender, but still not making a move on her. Luna. 

She righted Malfoy’s chair and retrieved the book he had left on the table when she felt a chill in the room. It was shockingly cold. Exhaling slowly, Hermione watched her breath dance on the air as she turned back to her seat. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the scene around her. Every table in the vicinity was occupied by ghosts. Hermione felt the cold seep into her flesh and goose pimples rise to attention on her arms and quickly realized that she was the only living person still in this section of the library. 

Urgently, Hermione moved to retrieve her belongings, but The Grey Lady was sitting at her table inspecting Hermione’s reference materials with a frown on her face. “Why are you researching Apparation, when you have already passed that test?” the ghost asked, her voice as cold as the room.  
  
Guardedly, Hermione sat across from the ghost. “I’m curious about the theory behind Destination, Determination and Deliberation,” Hermione replied, unsure why the ghost would care.  
The Grey Lady suddenly peered right at Hermione, her ghostly eyes penetrating Hermione’s in severe criticism. Hermione felt as though the temperature in the room had dropped several more degrees. “Why are you here?” Hermione asked. “Why are so many of you here in the library?”  
“They are here as a favor to me,” said the ghost. “I am in need of a private conversation with you.”

Hermione suddenly remembered that it was the Grey Lady that had urged Luna to pursue her _gift_. She narrowed her eyes at the ghost. “And what were you wishing to discuss?”  
“Why are you curious about this theory?”  
“Is this why you wanted to talk with me in private? To inquire on my research habits?”  
“I want to know if you are able to accept that you are not always right and actually start helping Luna Lovegood.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “I have already started helping Luna,” she ground out. “She is keeping a dream diary and trying to determine what triggers her hallucinations.”

“_Hallucinations_? My, you are an arrogant little witch.” the ghost bit out, her expression fierce.  
It felt as if a sudden cold front had wrapped itself around Hermione and she ground her teeth to keep them from chattering. Tension nestled between her shoulder blades and her fingers clamped tightly together.  
“It has been months,” the ghost continued, “since you read about the Oculi Somniantes at this very table. Months since you spoke with Professor McGonagall about Luna’s mother. You have the knowledge that she had similar talents, yet, you call her daughter’s gift _hallucinations_? Your mentor has acknowledged that there is something to this magic, yet because you do not understand it – or, more to the point, you refuse to understand it for what it is – then it must be imagined?”

The Grey Lady leaned forward, her transparent face inches from Hermione’s, sending a burst of cold against her face like a gentle breeze. “You are in the Wizarding World, yet, when you cannot understand or relate to magic, you either fear it or deny it. Professor Trelawney delivered a prophecy of such merit, there are those who killed for it. Do you deny her ability, still? Do you look for the _science_ behind her gifts and ridicule her because of her eccentricities?  
They call you the Brightest Witch of your age and wonder why you aren’t in Ravenclaw. I do not, however, wonder why you aren’t in Ravenclaw. I wonder why you are in Gryffindor. Where is your bravery, girl?”

“I am not denying that Luna sees things –” Hermione began, but the ghost leaned so close, her face became a blur; Hermione’s eyes began to water from the chill.  
“You are denying that what she sees is real," the Grey Lady breathed. "Your behavior is that of a Slytherin. You do not understand how she can do it, so you dismiss it as inconsequential.” 

“No!” Hermione gasped out as the ghost floated back to her own seat. “No. You’re right, I don’t understand what she’s explaining. I can’t envision cords or strings connecting layers of possible outcomes. I’m worried about her. She’s so devoted to these images, she isn’t participating in what’s actually happening around her anymore.”  
“Don’t be foolish, girl! It is you who isn’t participating. She sees in color, while you are still a babe in the womb!”

“I’m trying to help her! I really am!” Hermione screeched and leaned away from the table, attempting to escape the burning cold. “I am researching Destination, Determination and Deliberation in the hopes of helping her use that theory to find balance when she is overwhelmed by her visions. I’m trying to establish a system on how to use that in her dream state as opposed to when it is used for Apparating to another location. Instead, she would use it to focus on what she is seeing and, hopefully, be able to center herself back to reality. I initially began by researching lucid dreams because she explained to me that she dreams while she’s awake. I was hoping that if she was, in fact, dreaming we would be able to develop exercises she could perform to know when she was awake and when she was dreaming. I also looked into sleep walking because of the instances where she seemed to be looking at things around her that no one else saw. That’s why I asked her to start keeping a dream diary.”  
“And the Occlumency books?” the Grey Lady asked, gesturing to another stack of tomes.  
“I’m hoping that,” Hermione paused, choosing her words carefully. “That if she becomes overwhelmed by what she’s seeing, knowing basic skills in Occlumency may help her develop walls she can use to block the images attacking her.”  
“You want to show her how to block her gift?” the Grey Lady grit out.  
“Only when it’s too much for her! Or when she needs to rest. Or if she’s afraid.”

The Grey Lady regarded Hermione. “You are treating this like an illness.”

Hermione’s body stilled. Her shivering stopped and her mind slowed. “I am treating her as if she is diseased…” she whispered.  
“Or dirty,” the Grey Lady agreed.

“Oh, my,” the ghost let out in a soft laugh. “Oh, my, I missed it completely,” she continued.  
“Missed what?” Hermione asked.  
“As ghosts, we can see the strings Luna has told you about. And the layers, as well. And the basic descriptions you are using have their merit. Each cord represents a path, but those paths depend on the cord in question. There are different kinds of cords. In basic terms, there are the Life Line, Head Line, Heart Line, Fate Line –”  
“Are you talking about Palm Reading?”  
With a smile the ghost nodded. “Yes, there is something to Palmistry, however rudimentary it is to Oculi Somniantes. What I failed to see, however, is that Luna used me to help you follow a particular outcome. I failed to see it because ghosts no longer have these strings. Our fates were sealed when we denied ourselves death.”

“I don’t understand.”  
“Believe it or not, that is just fine.”

Hermione looked around the library and watched as the other ghosts started floating away. “Is our private conversation over?”  
“For now.”  
“But, what do you know about Oculi Somniantes?” Hermione asked quickly, desperation in her voice despite her relief that the cold was fading.

  
“My knowledge is limited to what I knew when I was living. It is difficult for ghosts to acquire new information. We are made aware of the rules of this plane when we enter it, and we can create new relationships, though they are fleeting as time moves differently for us. But as for new wisdom, it is gone the moment the conversation is over. Another loss in this form; my curiosity will never be sated. I will always thirst for answers I may have already found.”  
Hermione felt immense sorrow at the Grey Lady’s words; she would covet death if she faced such a sentence.  
“I knew of Oculi Somniantes when I was alive,” the ghost continued, “but my knowledge is only slightly more than what was provided in the tome Professor McGonagall referenced. As far as my ghostly memories, Maiden Lovegood’s mother, Pandora, was in Ravenclaw. Her Heart and Head Lines were fainter versions of Luna’s. And like Luna, she had a Yfantis Line, which very few people have. Perhaps, Madam Pince can help you find more on that?”

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice interrupted their conversation. She turned and saw he was running towards her with Ron and Nearly Headless Nick in his wake.   
“Harry?” she asked, concerned by his approach.

“Helena,” cut in Nearly Headless Nick. “I assume your discussion is over.”  
“Was there something you needed, Sir Nicholas?” the maiden replied.  
“Nearly Headless Nick told us the castle ghosts had filled the library and Hermione was still in here with them!” blurted Ron. “Are you okay?” he asked, rushing to Hermione and rubbing her arms to warm her.

“What would ghosts do to her?” Harry asked. “I still don’t understand. Nick seemed agitated when he found us, so we hurried here, but I don’t see any other ghosts around.”  
“The drastic drop in temperature with so many ghosts in one place could have caused me to freeze to death,” Hermione answered as she looked pointedly at the Grey Lady and leaned into Ron. “But I assume that was taken into consideration before they arrived.”  
The Grey Lady gave a firm nod, but was looking at Nearly Headless Nick. “What was the cause for your agitation, Sir Nicholas?”  
“As the girl said,” he answered, “it may have been too cold for her.”  
“She may be a Gryffindor, gentlemen, but she has the dedication and desire for knowledge as many of my favorite Ravenclaws over the years. I was merely helping her with a question or two.”

Hermione felt warmth fill her limbs that had little to do with Ron’s efforts. The Grey Lady’s words were a balm to her lingering guilt. They had reached an understanding and Hermione had more information in her quest to help Luna.  
“But why were all of them here at the same time?” asked Ron. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

The Grey Lady gave a soft chuckle. “Not all of Hogwarts students can be trusted with the same information Hermione can be.”  
Ron sniggered. Her answer appeased the two Gryffindors, but Sir Nicholas pursed his lips, his expression unreadable.   
“Nicholas,” she continued, “would you care to escort me to my tower?”

The ghost held out his arm to the maiden and nodded his head to the students before the two floated from the library, sparkling mist fading behind them as they passed through the library door. The warmth quickly returned and Ron pulled away from Hermione to take an empty seat at her side. Harry joined them at the table, his eyes falling to the book Malfoy had left behind. 

“Aesop’s fables?” Harry asked with a laugh. “Why are you reading those?”  
“I’m not. Malfoy was.”  
Harry’s eyes grew wide.  
“What are they?” asked Ron. “Some sort of dark magic?”  
“No.” Hermione said bluntly. “They are muggle stories.”  
“I’m not sure I believe you,” said Harry and Hermione shrugged. 

“He was reading the book, but became upset with it. He also asked me if I stole my magic.”  
“What? The tosser!” yelled Ron.  
“Quiet,” she hissed at him, “or Madam Pince will kick us out. And it wasn’t asked maliciously. I think he is starting to question his upbringing.”  
“Is she even here? I can’t believe she didn’t go after the ghosts for putting the books in danger,” said Ron. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he continued. “Maybe those ghosts did something to your head.”  
“They did, actually,” she replied shortly. “They got me thinking that we all have our prejudices and we all have the ability to recognize that about ourselves and correct it.”  
Ron frowned. “What are you saying? Are you defending Malfoy? He’s an arsehole!”  
“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “I am acquainted with a few of those, actually.”  
“Hermione,” Harry said, “he won’t just change overnight. He isn’t a good person and you can’t make him a project. You can’t fix him.”  
“I am not trying to fix him,” she replied in a huff. “I just find it intriguing to see him using his head. You can’t deny that he’s smart and capable. If he actually puts that to use, he may resolve his own issues.”  
Ron was staring at her. “He’s a jerk. He’ll always be a jerk. And he’ll always look down on everyone else who he considers less than him.”  
“And he is up to something,” said Harry.

“We know,” Hermione said.  
“No, there’s more,” said Harry. “I remembered in the Hospital Wing that I had two house elves at my disposal.”  
Hermione glared at him, but Harry continued. “I ordered Dobby and Kreacher to follow Malfoy.”  
“Harry! You shouldn’t have!”  
“He’s using the Room of Requirement for something!”

Hermione recalled finding Draco outside the room when she returned from Holiday, and realized that it was always near the room that she found him.   
“That’s why I can rarely find him on the map. The room doesn’t show on the map,” said Harry.  
“What’s he doing in there?” asked Ron.  
“I dunno. I haven’t been able to break inside.”

“I see,” said Hermione. “You came up with the idea of using slaves to do your meddling after getting bumped on the head. Maybe another knock to the head would help you let this idea go.”  
“Or help you figure out how to break in,” said Ron with a laugh.

Harry, however, was startled by Hermione’s words. “Luna said something about that.”  
“What?” asked Ron, confused.   
But Hermione stared at Harry. “What did you say?” she asked.  
“After Katie was cursed, I was following Malfoy, but Luna stopped me. She said both Malfoy and I needed our rest and that a good bump to the head would help me figure out the Malfoy situation.”  
“Barmey, that girl is. It’s just a coincidence,” said Ron.  
“I think she was spot on, in multiple ways,” said Hermione quietly.

“Speaking of,” said Ron, nodding his head towards the approaching figures of Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. They were holding hands, but separated as they neared the table. Hermione watched as Harry turned to greet them. He still felt awkward around Luna since their argument before break.  
“Hello,” said Luna as they arrived at the table. “Here is the book you were needing, Hermione.”   
Runes on the cover identified it as ancient Greek: θρυλική γραμμή υφαντών, or Thrylikí Grammí Yfantón. _The Legend of the Weaver Line.  
_“How did you know?” Hermione asked, but Luna just smiled.

“Hullo,” Neville greeted, smiling pleasantly. “What’re you all studying?” He pulled out a chair for Luna as he spoke, and Hermione watched Harry tense at the gesture.  
Concerned that Harry was still upset with Luna, Hermione was quick to respond to Neville when he sat down. “Harry and Ron just came to check on me, actually. I’m doing some extra research on a few subjects that interest me.”  
Harry, curious now, looked at the stack of books surrounding Hermione’s work space. “The three D’s of Apparation? Didn’t you just pass that test?” But his eyes narrowed on the numerous texts involving Legilimency and Occlumency. 

She was saved from replying by Neville’s chuckle. She followed his line of sight to the two Slytherins arguing a few tables away. Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson were red faced with anger.   
“Looks like the drama continues,” Neville mused.  
“Drama?” asked Ron.  
“They’re both tangled up with the same person,” said Luna, her voice light.  
“Nott’s gay?” asked Ron quietly, no malice in his voice.  
“No,” said Luna and Neville in unison.   
Ron looked disappointed. “Parkinson, then?” he asked.  
Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy at the note of regret in his question and looked over at the Slytherin girl. She was surprised, though, that he would be interested in a Slytherin.

As if sensing their gaze, Theodore Nott looked over at their table. Without so much as a glance he left Pansy to join them. “Have any of you seen Draco?” he asked snidely.   
Hermione raised her eyebrow. “He left a short while ago. I don’t know where he went to.”  
“Probably on the seventh floor,” Harry mumbled under his breath.  
“What was that, Potter?”

Deliberately, as she had done with Harry at Slughorn’s party, Luna poked Theo in the arm and shushed him. Surprised, Theo jumped back before running his hand through his hair, a wry grin on his face. “I apologize for my tone. I was supposed to meet Draco here half an hour ago, but I was delayed.” Theo glanced back to his table at Pansy who was staring at them. Making eye contact with Theo, she squinted her eyes and stood up before slowly walking to their table. 

“If you aren’t careful, Theo, people will get the wrong idea about you,” Pansy said rudely.  
“Drop the act, Pans,” he answered. “There’s no one else around.”  
Pansy crossed her arms and glared at the other Slytherin.   
“Hermione said that he was here but left.” Theo turned to Hermione. “Thank you.”  
Taking Pansy’s elbow, he made to help her leave. But Pansy shook from his touch and walked ahead of him as they made their exit.  
“Hermione?” said Ron. “He called you Hermione.”  
“Yes, Ron. That is my name.”  
“But he’s in Slytherin. And he’s a pureblood. And his dad’s a Death Eater.”  
“He isn’t a Death Eater, though,” said Luna as she dug through her bag.   
“And who is it their both dating?” continued Ron.  
“They aren’t dating anyone,” said Neville, “but Astoria Greengrass is causing them to quarrel. Pansy’s upset that Astoria wants to date Theo, even though he’s made it clear he wants to date Pansy.”  
“Didn’t he go to Slughorn’s party with Astoria?” asked Harry  
Luna nodded her head as she put on her Spectrescopes. “Poor Theo was tricked into that. It really was an unfortunate evening for quite a few people.”

Harry swallowed hard and looked away from Luna.  
“Why are you wearing those?” asked Neville, nodding towards her glasses.  
“Looking for the Wrackspurts around Ron’s head.” Seeming confused, she took the glasses off and shook them before looking up at Neville again. Her eyes grew large and she quickly put the glasses back on before taking them off again. She stared unblinking at Neville. “Apparently, they’re by you instead.”

Ron shook his head and Neville looked uncomfortable. Impulsively, Hermione slowly reached for the Spectrescopes. Placing them on her head, she looked at Neville. It was probably her imagination, but for a moment she had seen several glimmers around his head. She shook her head, and the glimmers were gone. Removing the glasses, she ignored the startled expressions from the young men at the table.   
“I don’t think I saw them,” she said to Luna and Ron snorted.  
But Luna smiled at her before turning to Ron and Harry. “Thank you for being cordial to Theo and Pansy. They’re very worried about Draco and an argument with you two may have gone terribly wrong with the state they’re in.”  
Ron grunted, preparing to speak, but Harry was faster. “Do they know what he’s up to?”  
Luna stared at Harry. “They are afraid for him, Harry. So am I. I’m afraid for all of them.”

Luna grabbed her bag and rose from the table. “Harry? Are you prepared for what’s coming?”  
Assuming she was meaning Voldemort, Harry shrugged. “I’m trying.”  
Luna looked sad before she continued. “Are you prepared for what may happen if you lose control? Are you prepared for how you’ll handle your friendships tested? Your love tested? Your faith tested?”  
“That could be true of any of us,” said Ron.  
Luna smiled cheerfully at him. “Yes,” she said before turning and walking away.  
Neville, sending an awkward smile to the group, followed her out of the library. 

“Completely off her rocker, that one is,” said Ron, shaking his head.   
“Why are you reading about Occlumency?” asked Harry at the same time.

Hermione considered her answer, before opting for the truth. “I have been taking private lessons with Professor McGonagall.”  
“Are they having you learn it, too?” Ron blurted. “Am I going to have to learn it? Why can’t Harry learn from her instead of Snape?”  
“No,” answered Hermione. “My lessons with Professor McGonagall have had more to do with learning memory charms,” she paused, and then hurried on. “I performed one on my parents over the summer and both Professor McGonagall and I think that will be the best way to protect them if Voldemort continues to gain momentum. I’m already having them prepare their finances so they can disappear; they just don’t remember why.”

Harry and Ron gaped at her.   
“Over the summer?” asked Harry. “Why would you do that?”

Memories from the night bombarded Hermione and she blinked away her tears, shaking her head. “They started asking questions and when they understood what’s been going on, they weren’t going to let me come back. They were going to make me run away with them.”

“This is really serious, isn’t it?” said Ron  
“I have to get that memory for Dumbledore. We have to stop Voldemort before it comes to that!”  
“You’ve been trying for ages, though,” Ron said.  
Shaking his head, Harry said, “I haven’t tried hard enough.” He looked at Hermione. “You’re incredibly dangerous with the magic you can do. And the sacrifices you’re making. I can certainly spare half a bottle of Felix Felicis.”

“What? Now?” asked Ron  
Harry nodded his head and grinned before darting out of the library to retrieve his liquid luck.  
“I hope this works,” Ron mumbled.   
Hermione nodded, her gaze quickly landing on the book Luna had brought her.  
“Do you mind if I head out?” asked Ron. “Seamus and Dean should be up in the common room.”  
“I’ll see you later,” she said, feeling no surprise at his desire to flee the library.   
“You’ll be alright on your own?”  
“Of course, Ron. Like Harry said; I’m incredibly dangerous,” said Hermione with a cynical smile.

She barely noticed Ron’s loud retreat. The book in front of her was marvelous. According to the text, written in Runes, Greek and English; the Yfantis Line, or Weaver Line, was a mythical line on the hand, much like a third eye on the forehead. But one could not have this line unless they had the Third Eye. Those with the Weaver Line could see, and maneuver, the Strings of Fate.

Hermione pushed her doubts aside and lost herself in the text.


	14. Out of Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depictions of violence and self-harm

Time had become Draco’s enemy. Perhaps, it always had been. Pushing his chair away from the table in the Hogwarts library, he threw the crumbled parchment aside. The notes it contained amounted to nothing but another dead end in his endeavor to fix the vexing Vanishing Cabinet. He felt panic swelling in his chest and pushed it down. He would never be able to protect his mother if he lost control now.   
“I just need sleep,” he murmured to himself. “I just need to rest my mind. It’s almost worth another trip to the Hospital Wing…”  
Movement caught his eye. Granger was at her table reading again. He felt his mind relax, momentarily distracted by this pastime of watching his rivals. Unlike dreaming, he didn’t have to witness his mother’s death when watching them.

He sat unseen between two bookshelves in what had become his favorite hideaway in the castle. Reticent to go back to the library after his encounter with Granger, but still needing his research, he’d made his return to the tomes. Granger, of course, had been at her table. He’d paced back and forth thinking of how to stay hidden, a habit from entering the Hidden Room, and suddenly there was his refuge. A concealed little gem, doubtless created by Ravenclaw herself, and he had quite literally found it by accident. He could see and hear those around him, but they were oblivious of him. It pleased him, knowing something Potter and his cohorts did not. He wondered if Granger would ever know. Perhaps, in another life, he would have shared it with her.

Granger’s table could be seen between the shelves on the other side of his table. The benefit, of course, was that she and her friends didn’t know he was there. He had picked up a few of their secrets. Draco knew about Potter’s book. Apparently, though, so did Severus. His godfather had known ever since Potter’s curse in the bathroom. Draco scratched at his chest and eyed the curly haired witch with her nose in a book, cursing Potter for existing.  
Draco also knew that Potter was finally dating the Weasel’s sister and that Granger was still pining for Weasley. Something uncomfortable settled in his stomach at the thought of the Weasel and Granger.   
“Disgusting,” he snarled to himself and then laughed. He knew something Granger and Potter hadn’t figured out there either. “Idiots.”

But the group knew a spell he did not. And when they were deep in conversation, a buzzing sound surrounded their table. And his work space. It was infuriating. 

He looked over at her table and snorted, shaking his head. Granger was still reading about Apparation, even though she’d already passed that exam. It tickled him that Weasley hadn’t. Draco vowed he would pass it his first go while he smiled at Weasley’s failure. He watched her face as she mouthed words as she read them. Her lips were fascinating. _Destination, Determination and Deliberation._

Everything stopped. He continued to watch her repeat the words over and over again.

He was dizzy. The room was spinning. 

He couldn’t breathe.

His heart was racing. Draco knew it was going to burst at any moment; he couldn’t calm down. The world was spiraling, the towers of junk were looming over him, threatening to fall on top of him and that blasted cabinet. The smells within the Room of Hidden Things; the dust and rotting parchment and stale air, were overpowering him and he felt he would vomit. He’d dropped his wand twice, his palms were sweating so badly. 

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger’s voice echoed around him.  
He closed his eyes tightly. “You’re not really here,” he retorted, afraid because he didn’t know what was happening.  
“Neither are you.”

Quickly, he opened his eyes and, startled by his reflection in a mirror, realized he wasn’t in the library. He wasn’t in the Room of Hidden Things, either, but in Myrtle’s bathroom. Turning quickly, he saw the ghost floating above him.   
“You’ve turned awfully pale, Draco. Are you going to be ill?”  
He was disoriented, not sure how or when he’d arrived. “How long have I been here?”  
She tilted her head as she looked at him. “Only a short while.”  
Draco laughed bitterly and reached into his pocket, pulling out the vial of orange liquid and opening the bottle. He drained the potion quickly and shivered. He promised himself there would be no more potion after this; he needed to sleep, nightmares be damned.   
“Are you still torturing Filch?” he asked the ghost, entertained by the look of delight on her face.  
“He had it coming, erasing that lovely note you left on the mirror,” she answered in a huff. “I don’t think anyone has ever left such a lovely message for me.”  
Draco was once again looking at his reflection in the mirror. He’d lost a great deal of weight. His clothes no longer fit and his eyes were protruding from his face. He looked like a skeleton. With irritation, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and looked at his Dark Mark. Anger filled him, overshadowing the sensation that the room was spinning.  
“Such an awful tattoo, Draco. Can’t you erase it with magic?” asked Mrytle.  
He shook his head. “As long as I belong to the Dark Lord, this will blemish my skin.” His chest was unbearably heavy and he gasped, unable to breathe. It had to be the mark, Draco thought, alarmed. The Dark Lord, sensing Draco’s doubt, was killing him through the mark!  
“I have to get rid of it!” Draco yelled out. “How do I get rid of it?” he yelled again, franticly, clawing at his skin.  
Myrtle was shaking her head, confusion evident on her face. “I don’t know…”  
But Draco wasn’t listening to her. He was lost in his own thoughts and, once again looking at his reflection, he found that he hated everything. Voldemort. Aunt Bella. His father. Himself.   
“I am such a fool!” he screamed. “What have I done?” His words were slurred and in one quick movement he raised his hand and slammed it against the glass. 

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger’s voice echoed around the room.  
He closed his eyes tightly, ignoring the shame he felt at her voice. “You’re not really here,” he bit out, defeated. Did he want her to be?  
“Are you sure about that?” she asked.  
He opened his eyes and found his reflection mirrored in her eyes. Looking around, he took in the view of the library and sighed, content that they were alone in his nook.   
“How long have I been here?” he asked her.  
But she wouldn’t answer him, she just stared at him, waiting.  
And then he understood. “This isn’t real,” he whispered, his heart slowing to a painful degree. She didn’t know about this place. And they weren’t friends. He watched as Granger reached for his hand and he eagerly anticipated the sensation of her skin on his.

“Draco!” Myrtle’s voice rang through the room and he opened his eyes, terror and pain filling him simultaneously. There was blood all over his arm and a deep, gaping wound covered the Dark Mark.  
Draco was shocked to see that he was holding a giant shard of glass in his hand. It was covered in blood.  
“What have I done?”  
“You’ve mutilated yourself!” Myrtle screamed. “If you’re going to kill yourself, you need to cut lower!”  
Draco dropped the glass and held his bleeding arm above his head, looking for his wand. He felt suddenly cold and he couldn’t determine if it was because of Myrtle’s agitated state or his loss of blood.   
“Where’s my wand? I can’t find my wand!”  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” said Granger, soothingly.  
Draco was sobbing, snot falling from his nose and mouth, his throat dry. The Dark Mark was still black and menacing, swimming in the bright red blood on his arm.   
“It’s in the sink,” he heard Granger say. Looking down he saw the dark wood and quickly reached for it, murmuring a healing spell and watching the blood retreat back into his arm. An easy fix; the wound was only caused by broken glass. A fleeting image of Aunt Bella’s dagger floated across his mind as he thought of her playing with a possible Order Member that had been brought to the manor.  
“Thank you,” he began, turning back to the mirror to look at his reflection, but finding his gaze on Granger’s face instead. Her curls were wild, much like he remembered from her youth. She was looking at him with a familiar, curious look.  
The pain in his arm was gone. “I wish I could tell you anything,” he murmured.  
“You know you can,” Myrtle said, but it was Granger’s face he was looking at, her lips mouthing those same words.  
He was cognizant that Granger wasn’t really there, but he couldn’t deny that he wished she were. The other muggle born that spurned his doubt. “It amazes me how phantoms have taught me more about bloodlines than any living soul ever could.” Draco slid down to the ground, the cold tiles a mild distraction compared to the combination of sweat and chills running down his spine. “I’m supposed to get them in,” he whimpered, panic settling upon him again. “I’m supposed to get them in and let them get him. I am supposed to …” he began to sob. “I can’t! I can’t do this! I want to take it back! I want to take it all back! I can’t do this! My father won’t even know or care because we’ll be dead!” he choked out.  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger’s voice raced along the tiles in the room.  
Draco continued to sob, his body shaking. “I’ve gone mad,” he cried. “I’ve gone mad to find solace from you!”

Overcome, Draco opened his eyes, terrified that he had said the words to Myrtle, but once again he was in the Room of Hidden Things, the Vanishing Cabinet looming before him. His hands were shaking and he heard his wand clatter to the ground. What was happening to him? Was this real? Was he really here?  
But, as he turned away from the cabinet, he saw a figure come into view. Rage filled him as the man strolled towards him, twirling a cane in his hand. Tall, and blonde and menacing, the man stopped before Draco and leaned forward on the decorative walking stick. The rage intensified and all of Draco’s hurt and fear burst from his mouth.  
“I hate you!” Draco screamed, his voice breaking. Rationally, he knew that the man standing before him wasn’t really there. No. His father was withering away in Azkaban, discarded by the Dark Lord, his sacrifices worthless.   
“This is all your fault!” screamed Draco, pointing at the mirage before him. “I’m marked with this disgusting ink because of you!” he shouted, raising his arm towards his father. Draco breathed deeply and laughed. “It isn’t even well done. Just like anything your Dark Lord has attempted! He’s a joke!”   
The words felt glorious and he became brave alone in the room with his imagination. “Voldemort is a joke, father! Just like you! You abandoned us! Look at me! Do you see what I’ve become? What mother has become? You left us alone with him –”  
His father stepped towards Draco, and mechanically, Draco stepped back. The illusion disappeared in the blink of an eye and the sorrow that followed irritated Draco.   
“I’ve gone mad,” he repeated. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his last vial of invigoration draught and threw it across the room, watching as it shattered against a pile of broken furniture. “What has the Dark Lord done for us?” he whimpered, falling to his knees.

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger’s voice echoed around the room.  
He closed his eyes tightly. “You’re not really here.”  
“Neither are you.”  
Pain filled his body. All of his limbs were on fire. “Am I dying?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.  
Her voice was fading as she replied, “Yes.”  
Quickly, he opened his eyes and saw the reflection of Harry Potter in the mirror, approaching him from behind. On instinct, he grabbed his wand and turned towards the intruder.  
“Calm down, Malfoy!” Granger’s voice screamed, the sharp tones reverberating around him.  
“I’m going to die…” he murmured, a sense of relief settling in his heart.  
“No!” Myrtle’s voice carried over his thoughts. “Stop!” she screamed.  
Water was cascading around him, falling down on him with dust and debris.  
He focused his gaze on brown, curly hair. He felt calm, until she turned.   
“Black blood runs through your veins, and I know you will make a worthy death eater,” declared Bellatrix.  
Cold furry filled him and he raised his wand.  
“SECTUMSEMPRA!” screamed Harry.

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger’s voice echoed around the room.  
“You’re not really here,” he wept.  
“Neither are you.”  
“Am I dying?”  
“Open your eyes,” she urged.  
The Vanishing Cabinet loomed before him and he bit back his frustration. He gingerly scratched at the scar across his chest, the fabric of his shirt hindering the task. Time was his enemy. It was disconcerting that the cabinet kept growing, rising above the piles of forgotten and discarded things.   
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, panic wrapping itself around his chest.   
The words caused his heart to skip a beat. His fingers were numb. The cabinet was still there.   
“What am I missing!” he screamed, kicking the cabinet.  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” he heard her say.  
“No!” he screamed. “I will not calm down!”

“He is asleep,” said his godfather. “I have done all that I can.”  
Draco felt the hard cushion of the hospital bed beneath him. He tried to open his eyes, but he was unable to make them work. _What is happening?_ _What has happened to me?_

“MURDER! MURDER in the bathroom!” Myrtle screamed. Draco was dying, he knew it. The cold tile of the floor beneath him was numbing, easing the pain of whatever it was that Potter shot at him. But the Vanishing Cabinet loomed above him.

“You will watch your mother die as you are slowly skinned alive,” hissed the Dark Lord.  
Draco was voiceless as the snake of a man left the room, a low rumble of a laugh lingering.   
His mother came to him and he knew that she had heard the threat.  
“What have you done, Draco?”  
“I am going to save us, mother.”  
“You, foolish boy,” she wept and embraced him tightly in her arms. “All you had to do was wait.”  
Draco bit his lips before his frustration burst. “We would be killed in the waiting,” he bit out.  
Narcissa leaned back and looked at Draco. “I love you, Draco. And I love that you want to protect me. But Bellatrix is not the way! You must not heed her – I am your mother,” she said.  
Draco was distracted by a trickle of blood falling from her nose. “Mother? You’re bleeding.”  
“Promise that you’ll listen to me, Draco!”

“What is this task?” Pansy asked, sounding irritable.  
Draco tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. The smell of anesthetic filled his nostrils.  
“He won’t tell me. I’ve offered to help, but he’s too proud. I don’t know if he’s afraid I’ll steal the glory, or if it’s some misguided attempt to protect me,” said Theo.  
“Why wouldn’t he protect Vincent and Gregory?” said Daphne.  
Draco knew that he was screaming, but his body and voice weren’t working.  
“He’s protecting them by having them help,” said Pansy.  
“Their fathers?” asked Daphne.   
Draco could easily imagine Pansy’s curt nod.  
“I can’t believe Saint Potter wasn’t expelled,” hissed Theo, anger evident. “Damn, Dumbledore. He couldn’t care less what happens to us.”  
Pansy laughed bitterly. “I can’t blame Draco for ignoring me when I told him to go to that old fart. Draco was nearly murdered and nothing is done!”  
Draco felt her fingers on his arm, awed that she would touch the arm she suspected was tainted by the mark. But, as though she read his mind, she pulled her hand away and combed his hair back with her fingers instead.   
“Should we ask his mother?” asked Daphne. “I know he told us to never go to Professor Snape, but perhaps his mother can help him?”  
Draco tensed, his heart racing.

“I don’t know what’s happening to her!” Draco wailed, the sound bouncing off the bathroom walls.  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger said.  
“You aren’t real! You’re just a figment of my imagination! And why? Why you?”  
“Draco, is there anything you can do for your mother?” Myrtle asked as she hovered beside him.  
“They’re doing something to her. I don’t know if it’s the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters. She’s withering away.”  
“So are you,” he heard Granger say.  
Myrtle nodded her head. “She can share my U-Bend, too.”

“Hello, Draco,” said a familiar voice. He couldn’t place it. “It’s Luna Lovegood.”  
Surprised, Draco waited, unable to open his eyes.  
“I am sorry this happened to you.”  
Her voice was calming. He wanted to smile. He wanted to curse her and tell her to go away. He could hear his father’s voice: _Blood Traitor_.  
“I know we aren’t friends,” she said. “But, you still have time, Draco.”  
He couldn’t breathe. What was she on about?  
“Not every choice is forever. Take his offer.”  
Only silence followed her words.  
He wanted to scream. _“Whose offer?”  
_Her hand was pleasantly cool as she touched his forehead.

“What is wrong with you?” he screamed at the cabinet. “Why won’t you work?”  
Fiercely, he kicked the cabinet. The room began to spin.

“Look at the murderer walking down the hall,” Pansy sneered, her eyes taking in Potter.  
Draco smirked, his gait still slow from his ordeal.  
“Come now, Pans,” said Daphne. “It was just a bit of attempted murder. Must be why he’s still here. It wouldn’t have anything to do with favoritism.”  
Draco eyed Potter, surprised at the shame on his face. 

The bed was unbearably hard. The hospital wing again!   
“Will he sleep much longer?” Madam Pomfrey asked.  
“It shouldn’t be much longer,” answered Severus. “Perhaps another evening.”  
“He will scar?”  
“Yes.”  
“It could have been worse.”  
“Yes.”

He awoke from his slumber, but his eyes still betrayed him. Feet were shuffling to his bedside. Someone was there, just waiting, quietly.   
“I shouldn’t have used that spell, Malfoy,” whispered Potter. “I didn’t know what it was –” his voice broke. “I don’t know what I was doing! I wish I could take it back!”  
Draco wished he could open his eyes to see Potter’s misery. 

The dining hall was filled with noise and Draco tried to swallow his porridge. “I’ve stopped using the invigoration draught,” he said to Theo.  
He saw the relief on his friend’s face.  
“Are you able to sleep?” Theo asked.  
“Not really,” answered Draco.   
“Are you ever going to let me help you?”  
Draco sighed, the sadness and loneliness and fear consuming him.

Blood was all around him, covering the tiles and mingling with the water.  
“MURDER! MURDER in the bathroom!” screamed Myrtle.  
He was dying.  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger said softly.   
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “You’re not really here.”  
“Not, yet.”  
“Am I dying?” he pleaded; but distantly, as feeling returned to his limbs, he heard the voice of his godfather chanting the incantations that would save him. Draco wished he would leave him be.

His wand clattered to the floor and he gazed at the Vanishing Cabinet. “I am my own saboteur,” Draco murmured as his fingers traced the carvings along the door to the cabinet. Kneeling down, Draco grasped his wand again. His father had always told him that magic came down to the intent behind it. Non-verbal magic was all about intent. Apparation was about deliberate determination regarding a destination.   
Carefully, Draco rose to his feet and retrieved the small bird fluttering in its cage. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered to the trembling creature. “I know what I was doing wrong.”  
He placed the bird inside the cabinet and closed the door. He hesitated. Every time he had done this before, he had been afraid to succeed just as much as he had been afraid to fail. If he were to succeed, it wouldn’t just be a mark on his arm anymore. If he were to succeed, then he would become one of them.  
“I’m in this blasted room, hoping to fail. But I have to do this! I have to get them in!”  
“Calm down, Malfoy,” Granger pleaded.   
“Go away, Granger!” Draco yelled. “Go away! You can’t be a part of this! You can’t do anything for me! You aren’t even real!”  
Draco leaned forward, resting his head on the cabinet. “I’ve gone mad, to dream of a friendship with a filthy mud—” he wavered. “I can’t even do it.” Draco chuckled, no humor in the sound. “I had suspected that your friendship would help me figure this out, Granger,” he mused aloud, remembering the way her lips had moved in the library. “How much more will you hate me if you ever learn it was you who helped me do this?”  
_Destination, Determination and Deliberation._  
“I intend to make this work. I intend to fix this bloody cabinet and get the miserable, rotten Death Eaters in this castle! I am determined to complete this offer I made to the Dark Lord. I am determined to give them access to Potter. The miserable cad almost killed me, anyway.”  
Draco closed his eyes and imagined the bird making her way to the paired cabinet, willing the magic to work this time.

“I don’t know what he was doing, Malfoy,” whispered Granger urgently.  
The bed beneath him could burn. How long had he been here?  
“I am so sorry. Harry can be so impulsive. He’s been convinced all year that you’re a… well, that you’re a Death Eater. But you’re not. You’re not that stupid.”  
Draco cringed. _Oh, but I am._  
He felt the pressure of the bed change as she placed her arms beside his body and leaned in.   
“You’re not that stupid, right? Oh, Merlin, if you were to open your eyes and see me here, what would you do? Snarl and snap at me. That’s fine. Do it!” she hissed.  
He strained to open his eyes and look at her when he felt the weight of her hand on his arm. His arm with the Dark Mark. The heat of her was seeping through the cloth of his shirt and he felt as though his mark were burning. Instinctively, he knew what she was thinking.  
_Don’t do it… please, don’t look._  
“Just wake up, Malfoy. Just wake up from this awful dream and be your miserable self. Your miserable, snarky, brilliant self. Even if you hate me, just don’t be stupid.”  
The weight of her hand slid down to his wrist and he felt her begin to slide the fabric up.  
“You and Harry are so much alike, you know? You would do anything for those you care about. Harry, well, he cares deeply and strongly for a lot of people. But I think you only feel that way about a very few.”  
_Don’t do it… please, don’t look._  
Granger took in a loud, shuddering breath. “What am I doing?” she moaned. “Oh, Merlin, what am I doing?”  
The bed was suddenly cold, her footsteps quickly fading with the warmth.

“Hello, Draco,” said a familiar voice. “It’s Luna Lovegood.”  
_I’ve already done this… Whose offer, Lovegood?_  
“I am sorry this happened to you. I know we aren’t friends,” she said. “But, you still have time, Draco.”  
She was almost there, if only he could remember.  
“Not every choice is forever. Take his offer.”  
But only silence followed. He pleaded with his eyes to open, for his voice to work.  
_Whose offer?!?_ His heart was racing and he felt the sweat slide down his nose. And then her hand was on his forehead and she was there.

Luna Lovegood stood before him, in her charmingly strange way, her eyes large and slightly confused. She and Draco were surrounded by darkness, the only light radiating from their bodies.  
“Whose offer am I supposed to take?” he asked.  
“I wasn’t expecting this, Draco. I don’t know what’s happening.”  
“Whose offer, Lovegood,” he snarled.   
She looked uncomfortable and quickly grabbed her temples. “Draco, I can’t be here.”  
She was fading and he realized he was too.  
“What’s happening? Is this happening because of you? Why is everything like this?” he cried out.  
“I don’t know.”  
Draco grabbed for her, trying to keep her with him, but as soon as his hand touched hers he felt like he was on fire. And then everything was black again.  
“Draco?” Luna said to his slumped form. “I don’t know what happened. But I know you can hear me. I’m pretty sure we messed with your lines. I hope it is temporary, but your view of things might be changed. You probably shouldn’t ignore what you experience.”

Draco opened the cabinet door, hesitantly. He was out of time, and he knew it. When he looked inside, the beautiful yellow bird flapped its wings and flew out of the cabinet with such haste, he had to jump back to avoid her crashing into him.   
Joy filled his chest. He had done it! He had done it! Laughter as he he’d never known filled his lungs and he released it in a joyful, triumphant shout.  
“Who’s there?” called out a woman, her voice penetrating the room.  
His joy fled.  
Hurriedly, he pulled his wand and obscured the woman’s eyes. Professor Trelawney stood at the entrance of the room, several empty sherry bottles in her arms.   
He sneered. _Drunkard hag._  
With a snarl, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her from the room.  
“Calm down, Malfoy.”  
“Piss off, Granger.”  
_Your view of things might be changed._ _You probably shouldn’t ignore what you experience._  
Draco snarled again. “Piss off, Lovegood,” he hissed and kicked at a stack of broken brooms.  
How long had this been happening? Had it just started?   
Did he really fix the cabinet?  
Magic filled the air and, rushing to the Vanishing Cabinet, he opened the door.  
A parchment with a single word was waiting for him.   
“_Tonight._”

“MURDER! MURDER in the bathroom!” Myrtle screamed, her voice just an echo in his memory, now.   
He was going to die, he knew it. 

Guilt rose up his esophagus and spilled out onto the dorm room floor. _Tonight_ the parchment had said.  
The Death Eaters would be in the castle tonight. Potter would be taken tonight. He would murder Professor Dumbledore tonight. Who else would be harmed tonight?  
He had to prepare. The better prepared he was, the fewer people the Death Eaters would come across. He ignored the lingering hope that Potter would be the victor again tonight as he used his wand to clean the floor and freshen the room. Draco knew his life was over. Either he became a murderer, or the murdered. He retrieved the Hand of Glory and Instant Darkness Powder from his trunk.  
Panic was replaced by a cold calm. Tonight, his life was over.

Brown curls swayed before Draco as Granger ran towards the stairs. Conflicting emotions swirled in his chest. Worry. Relief. Guilt. Anger. Temptation. _Would she help me? Would she let me escape to her side?_  
She whirled around and looked at him and it took everything in him not to scream at her to run away from this place. The Death Eaters were just behind him; she had moments to get away.  
“Malfoy?” she said.  
“You shouldn’t be here, Granger!” he shouted.  
“Are you with them?” she asked quietly, approaching him slowly.  
“Why are you here?” yelled Draco.  
“Calm down, Malfoy.”  
_Calm down, Malfoy. _Was this real?  
“Answer me! – Why are you here?” he screamed, panicked he was imagining her again.  
“You let the Death Eaters in, Malfoy,” she bit out. “You let them in? Why? Why would you let them into our school? To get at Harry? Do you hate him that much? Do you hate me that much?” she screeched.  
“No!” he shouted.  
“Are you one of them?”  
He couldn’t deny it. He wanted to. He wanted to run away from it all, but somehow understood that moment was lost.  
A familiar cackle broke through the silence of their stare and Draco tensed. Aunt Bella. He looked back quickly, relieved that she wasn’t in sight, yet. Granger’s eyes were wide, but her stance was fierce.   
“No, Granger, you have to leave now. She will murder you! Find your friends. Don’t fight alone.”  
“What about you?” she asked urgently, concern in her voice.  
“There’s no hope for me,” he said, finality in his voice.  
He watched the emotions play on her face and was tempted to imagine she cared for him. That her concern was more than just her nature to help everyone.   
“Go, Granger,” he snarled. “I can’t protect you if she gets here. I can’t fight with you.”  
She nodded her head once, her expression blank, and turned from him. He watched her curls bounce as she ran and remembered their wild mass when he had first seen her years ago on the Hogwarts Express.  
If only his intentions had been different then.

He felt Bellatrix’s presence before he heard her.  
“Shall we show the Dark Lord your worth, Draco?” she crooned, her stale breath warm against his neck.  
Draco plastered a proud grin on his face, playing the excited boy eager for approval.  
“Of course, Auntie. The glory will be mine!”


	15. The Fifth Column

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depictions of violence, assault and abuse

The only sounds in the Oak Woods were the crackling fire and popping potion beneath a very old, gnarled and twisted tree within the forest. Bellatrix stirred the cauldron beneath the Oak Tree, circling the giant, iron vessel; her steps confident despite the branches and roots that rose up from the ground as if to caress her. The tree… her tree had gifted her with three acorns, the exact amount necessary for this potion. The little gems had fallen one by one at her feet without her having to ask. It was as if her tree had known what was in the large bundle she had carried over her shoulder, aided by magic, and was eager for the night to move forward. 

Potion work was not her forte, but Grubber was not allowed near the tree any longer. The last potion her servant had made here had been ineffective; he had been too agitated by the woods. And she’d be damned if she asked anyone else for assistance. The enchantments of the woods elevated her skill, however, and she would not have her goals distracted by the actions of others.

Excitement settled in her bones and she skipped the last rotation around the cauldron before dropping the next ingredient into the bubbling mass. It seemed as though the tree were also excited; its branches swayed, and the ground shifted as it stretched its roots. The movements provided reassurance. Tonight was hers.

“I’ve brought you an offering,” she said. She moved to the bundle and unwrapped the blanket that covered it. “A miserable thing, but a filthy muggle seemed fitting for tonight.”

The branches swayed above her, their rustling sounds chanting on the still air, while the figure at her feet stirred. Bellatrix examined the muggle with distaste, watching as the air fogged when it breathed. The scrawny thing was a dosser Bellatrix had found loitering on the outskirts of her woods. Bellatrix glared at the trembling filth and her own body began to shake in anticipation.   
“Run,” she snarled, but the wretch seemed too frightened to move.   
With irritation Bellatrix unholstered her wand and thrashed it through the air, muttering her favorite hex. The sound of the muggle’s scream satisfied Bellatrix and she repeated her command to run when she ended the _Crucio_. 

The girl began to drag herself from the ground, never taking her eyes from Bellatrix or the wand in her hand, and tried to stifle her whimpers. Her slow movements were too much for Bellatrix, however.   
“Run, you filthy, pile of waste! Run!” Bellatrix shrieked, her voice cracking.

And the girl did. Turning from the witch in the woods, she stumbled over the roots and choked on her own scream. The sounds of breaking twigs and crunching leaves were deafening in the otherwise silent woods. She had barely made it ten paces before she saw the witch in front of her again. Panicked, the girl turned and ran towards the menacing tree, a terrified scream startled from her throat. She tripped on the roots at her feet, her hand touching the rough bark as she caught herself. But her body was wracked with another _Crucio_ and she fell to the ground. 

Bellatrix stood over the terrified girl and tilted her head to the side. “This will never do,” she said, and kicked the girl in the ribs. “You’re far more pathetic than I’d thought. Do you _want_ to die?”

In tears, the girl shook her head and tried to right her body, but Bellatrix, laughing, kicked her again. In a fit of instinct, the girl grabbed Bellatrix’s leg and pulled her down to the ground before once again getting to her feet to run away. But pain settled in her back, between her shoulders, and then there was nothing more. 

Bellatrix’s gleeful laughed filled the night sky and she stood up, pulled her dagger from the girl’s back and drug the body to the iron cauldron. Kneeling before the tree, Bellatrix spoke. “I’ve brought you an offering. She fought to survive and now her blood is yours.”

The pale skin of the girl quickly turned translucent as Bellatrix added the last ingredients to the cauldron. Raising her arms to the sky, she chanted with the whispering branches and swayed in startling movements to touch the tree each time she passed. And when her ritual was complete, Bellatrix wrapped the offering back in the blanket and, with a wave of her wand, hung the body from one of the many branches.

Confident that her sacrifice was pleasing, Bellatrix extracted a ladle full of the bubbling, black potion and knelt before the tree once more. “I offer up this sacrifice for our victory tonight. My Dark Lord requires the death of Dumbledore.”

Without taking her eyes from the tree before her, Bellatrix swallowed the potion, savoring the scalding taste of witchcraft.

* * *

“Death Eaters are in the castle!” Hermione exclaimed as she read the coded message on her galleon.  
She and Luna were waiting outside Professor Snape’s office, but the man remained within, as if unaware of the night’s activities.   
Luna nodded her head solemnly. “It’s been leading up to this all year.”  
Hermione knew it was true. It was like this every year; events building to disaster. Harry had been so confident something would happen tonight, he’d made them promise to use the Felix Felicis.

She and Luna were alone. Ron, Ginny and Neville had just tried to stop the Death Eaters near the Room of Requirement and Harry was off with Dumbledore, retrieving another horcrux.  
Hermione glanced at Luna before turning to look at the professor’s door. “Should we tell him?” Hermione asked.   
“Do you trust him?”  
“He obviously isn’t in on it, or he’d already be helping them… But,” Hermione paused before adding, “I trust Harry.” _I should have listened to him sooner_. 

“Dumbledore trusts the professor,” Luna replied and Hermione bit her lip before she nodded her head. “I’ll try to find the Order members on patrol,” said Hermione, “if you tell Professor Snape they’re here.”  
They nodded to each other again before Hermione turned and ran to the stairs. Luna made her way to the door and knocked loudly.  
“Enter,” beckoned the deep voice of the man inside.

Luna obeyed, taking calming breaths and focusing on the light in the room. The professor’s office was dark and dreary, but his desk was the exception. Stacks of parchment were piled upon the surface and several vials were filled with glowing potion, emitting the most brilliant glow. Luna examined the air around Professor Snape. She needed to try to see the cords of string in order to know how to proceed. The man sat in front of her, staring, but seeming unphased by her attention. 

“Ms. Lovegood,” he said, but stopped when she looked directly at him.  
Luna was surprised by his conduct. His tone was mild, with no sign of irritation.   
Luna stared at him and willed the strings – no, the lines – to come into view. If the theory that she was a weaver was correct, then she should consider the strings to be lines. And if palmistry stemmed from weaver magic, the trick would be figuring out what it all meant without a hand to map it out.

“Ms. Lovegood,” he said again and she looked at his face, startled by his eyes. It was as if he could see her more clearly than she could him. “You weren’t supposed to have this gift, yet,” he said.  
His question startled her. “How do you know about it?” she asked.  
Snape was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Your mother was kind to me. I recognize the signs.”  
“Was she?” Luna asked automatically. She was still trying to pull the lines into focus and this conversation seemed far away.  
“Perhaps. It may have been pity. She appeared to think I was doomed in this lifetime.”  
“Are you?”  
He pulled his lips inward. “What happened that caused you to accept the Oculi Somniantes?”

Luna was distracted by his question. “Did my mother explain it to you, Professor?” she asked, not hiding the hope in her question. “Hermione is trying to help me with research, but we haven’t found much about it at all.”  
Professor Snape snorted. “I imagine not. I’m not sure your mother knew much about it, either. And I said that she was kind to me, not that we were friends.” His voice was harsh and she remembered why she was there.  
“Can I trust you, Professor?” she asked him.   
The professor glared at her. “Is that why you have come to my office outside of my scheduled hours? To inquire on how trustworthy I am?”  
“Yes,” she said while focusing again on the man before her. She slowed her breathing and beckoned her senses to wake from this dream.   
And then she understood. _I dream while I’m awake_. That was it! Her visions weren’t her dreams. Her visions were present when she opened her eyes beyond the illusion of wakefulness. Oculi Somniantes wasn’t dreaming, it was waking fully. 

Suddenly, more vibrant than ever, numerous lines and, for the first time, shapes filled the room. More lines than she had ever imagined possible emanated from him, spiraling out of his head, heart and hands. Shocked, Luna stepped back momentarily.

The professor stepped forward. “Ms. Lovegood?”  
“It’s beautiful,” Luna said, awed by the movement around him.  
But Professor Snape appeared frightened. “You must not do this!” he exclaimed, looking at her intently. “These secrets are mine!”

“I don’t understand what I’m seeing, anyway,” Luna answered. “It’s beautiful, but I don’t understand it.” She examined the images around her, memorizing them and cataloguing them carefully. Her attention remained primarily on seven orbs that rotated like planets around the professor’s head. “I came to tell you –”

But she was cut off by the loud bang when the door to the office swung open and Professor Filius Flitwick, her Head of House, burst into the room. Flitwick stared only at Professor Snape and leaned forward, his hand on his knees, to catch his breath. “There are Death Eaters in the castle!” he panted out.

Flitwick collapsed to the floor. Luna, too absorbed by the symphony of forms filling the room, failed to notice what made Flitwick fall, but she rushed to his side as soon as she registered his crumpled body.

“He’s fainted,” Professor Snape said. “See to him, Ms. Lovegood, I must go join the others.” 

Luna watched the dark man hurry from the room, the ethereal strings following behind him. Numerous lines of string were apart from the others, no longer connected to Professor Snape, but she understood somehow that they were his. Several formed a grid, others formed a star, and still more a cube. She had never seen the lines form shapes before tonight, but the anomaly faded from her focus as she attended to her Head of House. 

* * *

Heavy footsteps sounded through the Hogwarts Corridors as the Death Eaters made their way from the Room of Requirement. It had been many years since many of them had been within these walls, but not much had changed. The smells were the same, the lighting from the candles flickered the same way; and that sense of homecoming was both surprising and grating.

Bellatrix had sent Draco to cast the Morsmordre, confident that would entice the old buzzard, Dumbledore, to return to his nest. There was no hurry. Anyone who crossed their path would be dealt with, but Dumbledore was their primary objective. 

“He’s done it! He’s actually got us into Hogwarts!” Yaxley said through his laughter. “Perhaps, one of the Malfoys is actually worth their salt.” 

A satisfied smile had settled on Bellatrix’s face. “It was I who swayed him to offer this passage to the Dark Lord and the rewards for my effort will be worth my guidance of the boy.”  
“Your nephew, you mean,” said Alecto before mumbling to her brother, “Manipulation is like breathing to her.”  
Bellatrix smiled proudly. “Don’t be jealous. We’re all going to have fun tonight.”  
“I just want to leave this place,” said Gibbon. “I don’t have pleasant memories here.”  
“Few of us do,” said Bellatrix.  
“He’ll put one of us in charge,” Amycus said, excitedly. “Imagine all the ways to torture the blood traitors and mudbloods!”  
“Where did Draco get that powder, Bellatrix?” asked Rowle, ignoring the twin. “It was truly amazing how easy it was to avoid those bothersome lookouts.”  
“Students, no less!” said Yaxley. “Dumbledore must be mad to think students would be enough to stop us!”  
“It’s from that disgusting store the blood traitors run. Those witless twins are to thank for our success tonight!” said Alecto, not bothering to wait for Bellatrix to answer the question.  
“It was because of my nephew!” Bellatrix shouted. “It was because of my plans we are here!”  
Alecto shrank back marginally, disconcerted by the other witch. 

Bellatrix looked arrogant as she fiddled with the necklace of vines and twine around her throat. She eyed them all carefully before the sounds of running footsteps could be heard. The group quickly turned back in the direction the noise was coming from, prepared to hex whoever approached. It was Bellatrix who smiled when the beast of a man turned the corner and came into view.

“Greyback,” she crooned. Her countenance was haughty and it was apparent she was enjoying this surprise.   
The sneer on his face sent the rest of the group stepping back while Bellatrix walked towards him.   
“Lestrange,” he replied. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”  
“I assume you’re here because you found my message?”  
“So that was from you? It was smart not to send an owl, but I’d like to know how you found us,” he replied, however, he seemed unfazed when silence was her only reply. “I’m anxious for the tonight’s delicacies,” he added, as he eyed the other Death Eaters and licked his lips.

Bellatrix’s cackle filled the corridor and Greyback sneered again. He was aware that none of the others wanted him there. He bared his teeth and smelled their fear. “I’m hungry for some children,” he said.  
“All in good time, Greyback,” said Bellatrix, “but first, we must find my nephew and watch him complete the mission the Dark Lord assigned him.”  
Bellatrix had already turned towards the astronomy tower, her steps determined.   
“You promised me,” said Greyback.  
“And the night is young,” she replied.

* * *

“Hermione?” Bill Weasley was startled to see the young witch running down the stairs after curfew, but more so by the look of alarm on her face.  
“They’re in,” was all she said and he felt his heart drop.   
“Where?” he asked.  
“I heard Bellatrix’s laugh. Draco Malfoy told me to run. He said I needed to find my friends, that I couldn’t fight her alone. That he – that he wouldn’t be able to fight with me.”  
“Where, Hermione?” Bill asked again, alarmed by what she had said.  
“Just up the stairs,” she said, pointing.

Bill prepared to send his patronus, but shouts suddenly filled the air. “Go to your tower, Hermione! And don’t let Ron or Harry out!”  
Bill ran up the stairs towards the sounds of combat above.   
“Harry is with Dumbledore!” he heard her yell after him, but he was already up to the landing. He recognized Bellatrix Lestrange and the Carrows. The spells had filled the space with smoke and ash and he couldn’t make much else out.   
Until he saw long red hair. Ginny. She was with Lupin. And, of course, there was Ron. Anger gave Bill speed and he rushed forward to join the fray. He knew without a doubt that Hermione was behind him, but his focus remained on stopping the Death Eaters. His siblings and their friends were not the only children in this place. 

“Where is he?” Hermione asked behind him.  
“Over by Ginny and Lupin,” Bill called back, assuming she had asked about Ron.   
But he realized that was no longer true. Remus was running towards the stairwell to the astronomy tower. Bill looked back to Ginny and saw that she was holding up a shield over the Longbottom boy, who was unconscious on the floor. Before his pride could register, though, his instincts kicked in and he was hurling hexes in the direction Ginny was shielding against. 

Distantly he heard the shout of the Killing Curse in a voice he didn’t recognize. Fear gripped him.   
And seconds before he felt sharp, biting pain on his face and neck, he heard a man’s voice scream out Hermione’s surname. The fear in the voice was enough to cause Bill to turn and, without hesitation, put himself between the werewolf and Hermione. 

* * *

Draco hurried up the stairs. “The sooner I do this, the sooner they’ll leave,” he said to himself as he felt the cold air on his skin. The image of Greyback lunging for Granger wouldn’t leave him. A Weasley had stepped in to take the blow and Draco pushed aside the unwelcome sorrow he felt at the man’s demise.

Gibbon had set off the mark when they had caught up with Draco. Thankfully, no one questioned Draco’s delay and Granger had not been noticed. Not that it had done her much good, as she had simply come back. Stupid, ungrateful, witch.

_What about you? _Granger’s voice sounded in his head. _Calm down, Draco. _Anger bubbled in Draco. Resentment at the witch who was too arrogant to accept a gift when it was offered fueled him forward as he hurried his ascension. He grasped onto the hate his father had shown him, and pushed aside his thoughts of Myrtle and Granger. They could be nothing more to him if he was to succeed tonight. Tonight, he would save his family.

Draco had barely a moment to catch his breath before he realized that there was movement beyond the door at the top of the stairs. _He’s already here!_

Grasping his wand tightly, he threw open the door. _“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted and made no attempt to hide his surprise when the Headmaster’s wand settled into his hand. Draco felt his stomach turn and tried not to vomit. The time had come.

* * *

Severus Snape raced up the stairs towards the corridor above. Flitwick’s mental walls had been non-existent in his harried state, and Severus had been able to retrieve all the information that he needed. Bellatrix, the Carrows, Thorfinn, Corban and another Death Eater, if not more, were inside Hogwarts. 

Bellatrix was behind it, he knew. She would not stop until she delivered Lily’s son to the Dark Lord. 

It wasn’t difficult for him to find the Death Eaters and members of the Order. It seemed none of them possessed any cunning or strategy. With a wave of his wand, he placed a shield around himself and walked quickly through the throng of chaos. 

He pushed aside his emotion at the site of Bill Weasley’s torn flesh. His chest had been rising, he might survive. Especially, with Hermione Granger at his side.

The imbecile, Longbottom, was another matter; he was too far away for Severus to make any hypothesis of his state. The Weasley girl was seemingly successful as his guard dog.   
Poor Molly. He pushed the thought aside with the fleeting irritation at her foolish Gryffindor brood.

_Damn you Albus!_ _If we’d only extricated the Malfoys…_

Severus grit his teeth and increased his pace. Bellatrix was attempting to make her way to the tower, so his destination was clear. Without a backwards glance, he felt for the usual wards at the base of the stairs, and having voiced the countercharms, ran up the stairs. As soon as he had broken through, Albus’s voice was clear to him, reaching through dimensions, through time and space, to call out to him. 

_…are here, Severus! Draco is not a killer! Save them. Save Harry! Save Draco! Severus, please. They are here, Severus! I am done. I am ready. Please. Severus, hurry! Severus! Fenrir is here! Protect the students!..._

Mouth suddenly dry, Severus pushed himself further. He couldn’t fathom why the werewolf was in the castle, and the Headmaster was obviously weak. His mental projection was incredibly faint. 

He heard arguing. The Carrows. Greyback. They were ordering Draco to do it. The grating screech of Alecto penetrated the air and he kicked open the door to the tower ramparts. 

Amycus Carrow was yapping his mouth, but Severus’ focus was solely on Albus Dumbledore. The night had obviously not gone well. Or the curse had suddenly progressed much further. His friend was going to die. Perhaps, he hoped, he would die on his own. 

The blue, penetrating eyes of the Headmaster pierced the dark, cavernous eyes of Severus Snape.  
“Severus…” Dumbledore softly pleaded. 

_No!_ Severus stormed forward, pushing his godson from his path to stare at Dumbledore. _You demand too much of me! How dare you do this! Just jump if you wish to die!_

The headmaster’s eyes were unblinking. “Severus… please…”  
And Severus stamped his mental walls down again, closing off all connection to the man before him. He pushed forward all of his hate and anger and frustration and raised his wand, pointing it directly at his mentor. 

_“Avada Kedavra!” _

The curse hurled Dumbledore backwards and over the tower ledge. Severus did not miss the look of relief that settled on the old man’s face, as time slowed for just the briefest of moments, and then Albus Dumbledore was gone.

“We must leave, now,” Severus ordered the Death Eaters, grabbing his godson by the collar of his robes. He could feel Draco trembling through the heavy cloak and he hurried ahead with him, allowing the others to fall behind.

“Listen to me, Draco,” he hurriedly whispered, casting a _Muffliato_ as they ran. “You will tell the Dark Lord you were lifting your wand when I reacted to Dumbledore’s pleas. You will tell the Dark Lord I stole the glory.”  
“You didn’t…” Draco murmured. “He was right. I am not a killer.”

Severus tightened his grip on Draco and pulled him faster. “You will not confess this to the Dark Lord! Boast of your achievement. Focus on your successes. Blame others for your failures. Plead for forgiveness that you allowed yourself to be robbed of the victory!”  
“He will murder you!” Draco said.

Severus was surprised by the boy’s concern and almost stopped to reassure him.  
“It is my honor to be your godfather, Draco. We must build a believable memory of tonight. A _false_ memory.”  
Draco did stop. Severus quickly looked around the corridor and pulled him along again. “We must not delay, Draco!”  
“I am not capable of that, godfather.”

Severus felt a moment’s relief at Draco’s use of his designation. His godson was no longer fighting him.   
“Don’t listen to your aunt, Draco. She is your enemy. You are more capable than she would have you believe. Ignore everything she taught you and follow your instincts on this.”

The entrance hall was before them and Severus pushed aside the melancholy. His refuge and his prison would be but a memory after tonight.

“Draco, what was supposed to happen tonight? Were you only supposed to kill the Headmaster?”  
“Don’t you know?”  
“What do you know, Draco?” Snape asked.  
“Potter,” Draco replied, his voice barely audible. “I offered a way to Potter.”

Severus halted quickly and penetrated his godson’s mind without any warning. His movements were rapid and he found no relief when Draco pushed him out of his head.   
“That was not nearly quick enough!” Severus said. “What has that mad woman been teaching you?”  
“Your attack didn’t hurt! I didn’t even know you were there at first. When she enters my head, it’s like she’s slicing my skull.”  
“Walls up at all times. It is grueling, but it must be done. The Dark Lord can slither into your mind and rob you of your secrets before you register he was even there.”

The men began running again, the castle looming behind them. Severus attempted once more to enter Draco’s mind and was pleased that his godson had obeyed.  
“Draco, the others are gaining. Use safe truths to build your walls. Bury your secrets in distractions. I don’t know what will happen after tonight, but you must ask your mother to help you with your mental walls. She will help you gain strength to keep them up at all times.”  
“What?”  
“Your mother cannot offer to help you, Draco. And she may seem to be resistant. Trust that she will help you, even in dismissal. You have to ask her for her help.”

Before Draco could respond the booming voice of Rubis Hagrid rose up through the night. Both men looked back to see the groundskeeper’s hut ablaze in flame and the remaining Death Eaters were in battle against the half giant. 

“We must leave, now!” Severus yelled again. He grabbed Draco and hurried towards the gates when Harry Potter’s voice rose above the shouts and roaring fire behind them.

_“Stupefy!”_ he screamed.   
The spell missed.   
“Run, Draco,” Severus commanded before turning towards the spitting image of James Potter. 

The commotion around them obscured the curses Potter shot at him. But there was no mistaking the dark-haired boy’s intent. 

This boy was his life’s mission. Lily’s son. But in this moment, like so many with him, he only saw James. 

The cocky, condescending, bully. The bastard who pressured Lily to stay away. The spineless, cad who plagued him. Snape parried Potter’s curses. The cheat who had everything. The fool with all the right connections. The loser with his future on a silver platter. The boy who stole Lily. 

James and Harry Potter were the reason she was dead. He could have saved her, if not for them.   
Yet, she would never have needed saving if he hadn't been such a fool...

Somewhere in their battle, Snape recognized that it was the younger Potter fighting him. Likely, when the anger in his bottle green eyes flashed like Lily’s. Or the betrayal in their expression, that so resembled the look on her face when he had called her a mudblood. 

But then, the boy’s face contorted into that self-righteous look of James Potter. And just as his father had always judged him, so the son did.

“Kill me, you coward!” shouted Harry Potter. “Like you did him,” he screamed.

_Coward._   
An all-consuming rage filled Severus and he disregarded his own commands that the Death Eaters leave him. He forgot that it was his mission to shield the insolent boy. And he lashed out.

Thank Merlin, for that miserable hippogriff, or he may have forgotten himself completely. The beast had flown down upon him during his attack and steered him back into action. Running quickly towards the gates, Snape apparated outside of Malfoy Manor and hurried to his fate. Pandora Lovegood’s sad smile flittered across his memory. 

Whatever the consequences, he must ensure both Harry Potter’s and Draco Malfoy’s safety.


	16. Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: depictions of violence, torture, manipulation and coerscion

His mother stood beside him as they waited in the drawing room. It unsettled Draco to realize that he was being received as a guest in his own home. No matter what the Dark Lord did to the manor, however, it would always be _his_ home. The walls that made up the structure pulsed and hummed, saturated with magic older than the Malfoy’s themselves. The sound was a distant distraction to those not belonging to the house; to those who were not Malfoys. Draco closed his eyes and tried to match his heartbeat to the rhythm of the house and listened to the slow steady breaths of his mother as she did the same. 

There were Death Eaters waiting in the drawing room with them, bragging and competing amongst themselves, yet keeping their distance from his Aunt Bella. Bellatrix had claimed a seat beside the throne used by the Dark Lord. There really wasn’t a better word for the chair that seemed to penetrate the air around it with darkness. It had been a gift to the Dark Lord from his aunt and it was made of sculpted Oak and Hickory. A gift of such significance would typically be given at a betrothal and was completely inappropriate. 

“I don’t want to get on her bad side,” Alecto said quietly to her brother. “She’s too dangerous a witch. Let the Dark Lord chastise her for her behavior.”  
Draco idly watched as his aunt sat sprawled in her seat, a smug smile plastered on her face as she gently caressed the throne beside her and gloated in the faces of the other Death Eaters. Her actions were infuriating the group and Draco tried not to become distracted. He needed to build his mental walls.   
“Won’t he be furious at us for letting her fondle his possessions?” Amycus questioned.  
“There is something off about her and her magic,” said Rowle, sounding distracted.  
“Keep your mouth shut!” Alecto hissed. “Gibbon deserved better than to be mistaken for Dumbledore’s werewolf. You’re as bad as Lucius, killing one of our own.”

Draco closed his eyes tightly and grabbed onto that anger. He would build walls with his desire to restore the Malfoy name. Fresh rage provided ample mortar. He brought to mind the image of his mother screaming from his nightmares. His irritation with Severus for attempting to take over his mission. His fury at Dumbledore, when he realized that the man had known – Dumbledore had done nothing, but he had known what Draco was trying to do. He felt the pleasure at having outsmarted the worthless, old fool and built more walls with that. 

“Draco,” his mother said.  
He looked to her. She was examining the room, verifying that no one was paying attention to them.   
“What happened?” she asked.  
“I got them into the castle,” he paused, licking his lips, and said, “Severus killed Dumbledore.”  
It was subtle, but he caught her release her breath. She almost seemed relieved.  
“He told me to ask for your help, mother.”  
“Shush,” she whispered.   
Bellatrix was staring at them. He made eye contact with his aunt, confident his walls were in place. He felt the glass across his thoughts, but it was quickly gone as she stared at his mother. And then she was eyeing the bickering Death Eaters. 

Narcissa grabbed Draco by the shoulders and turned him to face her. Her eyes moved, briefly, as if she were reading from a book. “They are good, Draco. But she is still there.”  
Draco was confused and Narcissa pulled her wand and began mumbling charms to freshen his appearance, but unexpectedly, there was a buzzing noise around them.  
“A little charm I stole from your godfather. We have a moment before Bella notices she can’t hear us. Your walls are very good, Draco, but there is an image of the werewolf lunging for the mudblood. It upset you. You have to push that further behind your walls. You must use old memories of her to do your best to hide her from the Dark Lord. Hold onto the memory of hexing her teeth. And of her dancing with the dark young man. Your jealousy can resemble hatred there. And you must keep your dislike of Potter ever present, but do not think of how upset you are that he failed to stop you tonight. Or that Dumbledore’s offer came too late.”

Draco felt all of his walls crumble. “How…?”  
“No, I am not ashamed you have grown protective of her,” Narcissa said hurriedly, before moving on. “You have very little of my ability, but it is there. Severus told you to use walls, but if you are able, try to imagine they are webs, like those of a spider. Put them up now,” Narcissa said and quickly ended the buzzing spell.

“You must look your best for the Dark Lord,” Narcissa said.   
“Of course,” Draco replied, while trying to understand his mother’s instruction. 

Images entered his mind when he looked at her. He closed his eyes and watched a web form. It started as a simple line of silky thread, then a curved one that pulled down to a point. Another line emerged from that point and broke off again up to the corner of the first line. And then there were triangles within triangles until there was an orb in the middle. The silk became sticky and another orb was created on top of the first one. Once there, he wasn’t able to escape.

Draco opened his eyes as the Dark Lord entered the room, his snake slithering at his side. The man’s bald head and serpent-like features captured the attention of everyone there and the only sound was the pulsing of the house and the beating of Draco’s own heart. Draco hurriedly reformed his walls, restructuring their design and placing the safest memories in the sticky orb of the web he had created. With any luck, anyone viewing those memories would struggle to move beyond them. 

“It is done, my lord,” exclaimed Bellatrix. She strode confidently to the Dark Lord, her head held high. “Draco gained us entry into Hogwarts. Dumbledore is dead!”  
The other Death Eaters in the room cheered, excited by their success.  
Voldemort ignored them and turned to Draco. “Indeed?” asked the Dark Lord. “Has Nagini lost her treat, Draco? Did you actually kill Albus Dumbledore?”

Draco knelt down on impulse, his head low to the ground. “My Lord, it is true that the old man is dead, but it was not I who was privileged to cast the killing blow,” said Draco. And then, mustering all of his self-pity, all of his fear and resentment, he exclaimed, “Snape stole the glory!” 

Recalling his godfather’s instruction, Draco continued. “I fixed the broken Vanishing Cabinet. It was I who allowed your faithful servants into the castle. It was I who got them passed the first guard. And it was I who cornered Dumbledore! But Snape arrived – he cast the Killing Curse.”

Draco tensed, anticipating the _Crucio_. But, it never came. Draco hesitantly looked up and found the Dark Lord towering over Bellatrix. His aunt only stared at him, her face aglow with adoration.  
“What do you have to say?” he asked Bellatrix.  
“I’m proud of my nephew!” Bellatrix bellowed. “It was I who convinced him he’d succeed in gaining access to the school and he did! Because of my plan, because I urged him to the cause, we were able to penetrate the castle! Of course, Snape would foul things up! It is his fault the night was ruined!” she screamed.  
“How did he die?” he asked.  
Bellatrix hesitated. “I was not there, my lord,” she answered. “I was caught in the battle with Dumbledore’s filthy Order.”  
“You waste my time, witch!” Voldemort said and waved his wand across the air, sending Bellatrix to the furthest corner of the room. She quickly rose and glared at Alecto who had not bothered to hide her delight. Bellatrix sneered and turned her attention back to the Dark Lord.

“I was there, master!” Alecto exclaimed. “I was there when the Malfoy brat nearly pissed himself.”  
Voldemort smirked and approached the stout woman. “He was afraid?”  
“He was trembling, he was,” said Alecto.

Draco plastered the image of the Weasley attacked by Greyback to the forefront of his mind, focusing on the torn flesh and blood and yelled out “That was because you fools brought a werewolf with you!”

Voldemort was before Draco and their eyes locked. Draco was alarmed. He could not blink or look away and his head was swollen with undulating pressure. And just when he thought his eyes would burn from the lack of moisture, he realized that the Dark Lord was already gone. Alecto was curled in a ball of pain as the dark wizard stood above her, yielding his wand in her direction. 

“Enough with these distractions!” said Voldemort. He turned to Draco and Draco felt his body seize up in agony. His joints were on fire and his blood had stilled. The pain of thousands upon thousands of bullet ants attacking his skin engulfed him. 

Draco was uncertain how long he had been cursed when he felt arms around his body and the torture ended. But the Dark Lord had not ended the curse. His mother had placed herself in its path.

“NO!” screamed Draco. His voice was hoarse, barely more than a groan, and he was not able to lift his body. “NO!” he screamed again, but it was drowned out when the door to the drawing room burst open and Severus Snape threw himself at the feet of the Dark Lord.

“My, Lord.”   
Voldemort did not cease his activity, but looked down at the kneeling Potions Master.  
“I beg for your mercy, Lord. I was not aware they would be there tonight. I was not prepared.”

As if bored, Voldemort snapped his wrist away from Narcissa, ending the spell.   
“You were not aware? You were not prepared that I wanted the young Malfoy to kill Dumbledore or die himself?”  
“I did not know they were coming into the castle. I was not prepared to let my revenge go!” snarled Snape. “That old fool was the warden of my hell! The boy had his wand raised and that depressing, old, coot looked at me, begging me to save him and I was not primed to let someone else have the satisfaction of ending him.”

Draco watched as the Dark Lord stared into his godfather’s eyes. He now understood what was happening. Only seconds had passed, but Severus stared, unblinking, in the other man’s direction. And then the Dark Lord laughed. It was a hollow, choking sound, but unmistakable in is mirth. 

“Bellatrix!” called the Dark Lord.

Draco observed his aunt stride across the room to stand before the dark wizard. She lifted her head and stared openly at him.   
“Severus?” said Voldemort.  
“My, Lord?”  
“She purposely withheld information from you. Choose her punishment. Be aware, that yours will be hers times two.”  
Snape nodded his head and considered. “Lashes, my Lord.”  
The Dark Lord grinned and turned once more to Draco. “Get up off the floor,” he commanded.   
Draco nearly cried from the pain of moving his arms when he tried.  
“Shall Narcissa play shield once again?”

Ignoring the embarrassment, Draco screamed in pain as he pushed through the pain, forcing himself onto his hands and knees. He’d lost control of his bowels in the torture and was thankful his school robes would hide that disgrace. He screamed out again when he pushed himself into a standing position, the pool of urine at his feet was unmistakable. He looked down at his mother and realized she had faired far worse than he had. Blood was pooling from her nose, and he could swear that more of her hair was white now. His love for her nearly killed him when she smiled encouragingly at him. Damn his father to hell.

“As a reward for finding a way into Hogwarts, I will allow you to punish Severus. He did, after all, rob you of your glory. Are you familiar with _Poenior Ignis_?”

Draco merely stared. He was familiar in theory, only. The Malfoy Library was filled with books on the Dark Arts and that curse was mentioned numerous times. _The Whip of Fire_. 

“Severus will perform this curse on your aunt. You will learn from his example and complete the curse on him when he is done.”   
“But, master,” said Bellatrix. “I had hoped that you would complete my punishment.”

The Dark Lord walked past Bellatrix as he made his way to his chair. She had positioned herself on her knees and he angled his hand behind his retreating form and in front of her face. She grabbed his fingers quickly, and kissed the tips. The Dark Lord slid his hand to her chin and lifted her head as he turned to look at her. “Impress me with your endurance and I will personally see to your healing.”

Draco was sure he would vomit at the site of his aunt salivating at the Dark Lord’s retreat to his throne.   
“Come, Nagini,” Voldemort said.  
Draco did not miss the narrowing of Bellatrix’s eyes as she watched the snake slither to the Dark Lord and wind herself onto his lap. 

Severus stepped forward. Draco felt that he may fall to his knees, his body was spent.   
“How many lashes, my Lord?” asked Snape.  
The Dark Lord looked down at the snake in his lap before replying, “She will have ten. To the skin.”

Narcissa sucked in air at Draco’s feet. His godfather would have twenty lashes by his hand. Draco felt afraid and he watched Bellatrix haughtily walk before the gathered group. She disrobed, unashamed, and Draco was momentarily distracted by his relief that hers was not the first naked body he had seen. Brief memories of the Patil girl lying on her back flickered in his mind before he registered the first crack of the curse on Bellatrix’s skin. 

He swallowed his vomit. A deep line of charred, black skin appeared on her back, but she didn’t scream. She held herself upright and braced for the next blow. 

The second crack hit her back and she moaned as if in delight. Draco was horrified to see that she was looking directly at the Dark Lord and fingering the necklace at her throat. 

The gathered witches and wizards also seemed unsettled by her reaction. But Lord Voldemort was grinning again. By the fourth curse, his godfather has mastered his aim and was hitting the exact same spot each strike. At the last crack, Bellatrix fell to her knees before the Dark Lord. The stench of burned flesh flooded the room.  
“Forgive me, master, for distrusting Snape,” she said, her voice betraying her ragged state. “Had I not kept secrets, this evening would surely have ended very differently.” She gently stroked the hem of his robe. 

Voldemort ignored Bellatrix and turned to Draco.   
“You may have one practice shot before you serve Severus his punishment,” said the Dark Lord.   
Draco felt awkward as his godfather began to undress. He had only ever seen the man in his black robes. There was no surprise at the deathly, white, pale skin. But the man was neither potbellied or skinny. He was simply fit. Draco felt indecent. His godfather had only removed his cloak and shirt, finding no need to prance around naked as Bellatrix had. But his current state seemed more damning and intimate. 

Draco’s brain kicked into gear and he once again checked that his mental web was in place before looking at the Dark Lord. Images of Patil were still fresh, as was his horror at his aunt’s battered flesh. The Dark Lord smirked and Draco found that his eyes were dry and pressure was fading from his head.   
“Whom would you like me to practice on, my Lord?” he asked.  
“Bellatrix could have one more, don’t you think? Her ineptitude gave room for Severus to intercede,” Voldemort replied. Draco had the sense that he was laughing at him. “No need to up Severus’ ante,” he added.

Draco looked to his mother and felt her in his head. A memory rushed forward, and he knew it was hers. Bellatrix was in front of a giant tree, covered in blood and laughing. His mother was on the ground weeping at the unconscious form of his grandmother. All of his mother’s hate entered his body and he turned to his aunt. He didn’t understand what he had seen, but he knew whatever it was, it had actually happened. 

Bellatrix had hurt his grandmother. And his mother hated her. 

His aunt was staring at the Dark Lord, her hands at her sides, and he took advantage of her distraction.   
_“Poenior Ignis!”_ he yelled, stumbling from the strain of the magic, but hitting the mark perfectly. 

And Bellatrix screamed. 

She whirled around to face him, her hand to her throat. “You ungrateful, shit!” she roared. The Carrow twins were laughing, the Death Eaters behind them attempting to hide their sniggers.   
“I was following the command of the Dark Lord,” Draco said slowly, surprised at how calm he sounded.   
Bellatrix snapped her mouth shut and retrieved her cloak to settle it around herself once more, grimacing as the fabric touched her back. 

Voldemort motioned for Alecto to attend to Bellatrix. Both witches scowled and sat far from each other in a corner of the room, already forgotten by their leader.

Severus walked before Draco who watched as his godfather looked at his mother before crouching down and bracing himself against a chair. Narcissa was sitting upright now. And it appeared she had cleaned herself up. Distantly, he realized she must have done the same for him. He prepared to thank her when her voice assailed his brain. _“Nonverbal. Abditumara!”_

“Begin!” commanded the Dark Lord.   
Without thought, Draco repeated the spell in his head,_ Abditumara,_ before voicing the Whip of Fire spell to the room. He silently repeated the spell his mother had given him before each strike to his godfather. By the fourteenth crack, Draco was down on one knee, his vision blurred by the tears he refused to shed. His body was shutting down. At eighteen he was on both knees, all sensations to his hands and feet were gone. He passed out as the twentieth whip lit across Severus’s back.

Sometime later, Draco awoke in his own room. Gentle, but leathery, hands were inspecting his body, rubbing ointments and wrapping dressings on his injuries. He had nearly forgotten that he had been in a battle only a short time before being tortured by the Dark Lord. The evening’s events returned to him and he turned his head to hide his face. 

“Did my mother send you?” he asked the house elves when he had control of his emotions.  
“No. The house did,” said the smallest of the elves. He had no idea what its name was.   
“Do you often listen to the house?”  
“An unhappy house makes unhappy elves,” said another elf. 

Draco tried not to laugh. He remembered Granger wearing one of her stupid SPEW buttons and burst into tears instead. “I’m so sorry,” he cried. “I wish I’d never been born. Or that I was just a stupid, muggle. I am so sorry… I’ve only ever been horrible to you.”

He rolled from his bed and landed in a heap on his floor. “I can’t handle this!” he cried. “Why did I have to figure this out now? Why did I have to realize how stupid all of this is, now?”

The same leathery fingers suddenly covered his mouth and little voices begged him to be quiet.   
“Go to the hidden halls,” one whispered.   
“You isn’t safe in your room,” another said.

And then he was floating to the fireplace and his hand was lifted to the corner of the mantle.   
“Opens its!” hissed an elf.

So, he did. And the little elves herded his floating body through the tunnels.   
“How do you know where you’re going?” he asked.  
“Mistress Cissa lets us in when we needs to hide.”  
“Or, when she needs help.”  
“Where are you taking me?” asked Draco.

“To the safe room. The sour man is there.”  
“Sour man?” he asked, confused.  
“Your godfather,” whispered another elf so quietly it was barely audible. “Your mother be with him.”

Still exhausted, and not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming, Draco closed his eyes and enjoyed the swaying, weightless motion of their levitating him through the hidden corridors of Malfoy Manor. After some time, an elf’s hand clasped his.   
“Wills you open it?”

More alert than he had been before, Draco examined their surroundings. He had never been here before and he was slightly frightened by what he would find on the other side of the panel. He looked down at the house elves and then closed his eyes and listened for the manor. At least, he knew he was home. Carefully, Draco extended his hand to the top corner of the panel and watched as the room behind swirled into focus.   
The elves had not misinformed him. Severus and his mother were in a tiny, unfamiliar room on the other side. Extending his hand again, he opened the entryway.

His mother looked up from her bed and smiled at him.   
“You look much better,” she said.   
The elves levitated him to the seat on the side of her bed. Severus was seated on the other side. 

The two men eyed each other before Draco spoke. “I’m so sorry, godfather,” he began. But the other man held up his hand.   
“You shouldn’t have to be a part of this,” said Severus. Draco stilled. He, himself, had said the same thing to Granger.  
“Dumbledore and I tried to protect you,” he continued as the house elves made themselves busy tending to the various wounds and ailments of the three people in the room.   
“What?” asked Draco.  
“We were afraid of what the Dark Lord would find when he entered your mind. Your mother said that you protected yourself competently and she didn’t need to intervene.”  
“Is that why you kept harassing me to let you help? To protect me?”  
“It was always the plan that I would be the one to kill him. You are not a murderer.”  
“And you are?”  
“I am a Death Eater.”  
“You're a brilliant spy,” Narcissa cut in. “Thank, Morgana, for that.”  
“What is happening?” asked Draco. “Are you actually a Death Eater? Are you Voldemort’s man? Or Dumbledore’s?”

Severus visibly cringed. “Do not become careless now, Draco! He is the Dark Lord. And I am no one’s man but my own.”  
“Whose side are you on, then?” asked Draco.   
“My own,” snarled the Potions Master.  
“Just tell him, Severus,” said Narcissa. “He will understand.”

Draco watched as his mother and godfather looked at each other. “You’re talking to each other, aren’t you?” he asked. “And how did you talk to me in my head, mother?”

Narcissa cleared her throat and adjusted the blankets around herself. “Blood magic,” she finally said.   
Draco stilled. “Blood magic?” he asked.  
“Severus and I are not talking in the way that I sent a message to you. I can only do that within this house and it takes a great deal of power to do that, especially with those I am not connected to by blood. He and I are communicating by sharing memories. I did, however, send both you and Severus the nonverbal spell. I believe that we were all casting it while you… while you cast the whipping spells and that is what protected Severus. 

Draco looked at his godfather again and realized that he looked good. Too good.   
“The Dark Lord believes I chose lashes because I can create potions to heal them quickly,” said Snape, “And that is correct. That is also why he chose the Whip of Fire as it is unlikely a potion could heal those wounds.”  
“How did Bellatrix withstand it?” asked Draco.

“Your aunt has delved into very dark magic,” Narcissa began, but a coughing fit racked her body and blood began to trickle from her nose and ears. Draco watched in horror as several strands of dark hair turned white and her skin turned blue.  
“Stop, Narcissa!” Snape ordered and turned to Draco. “She cannot tell you. She is cursed.”  
Draco stared in wide-eyed horror as the color slowly returned to his mother’s face.   
“What kind of magic is this?” Draco asked. “Why is she serving the Dark Lord if she has power like this?”

Narcissa coughed again. “We must not speak of this any longer. I am too weak.”  
Draco cursed under his breath. Damn their secrets.  
  
Narcissa tutted at Draco’s obvious language before addressing Severus. “I stole your _Muffliato_ spell,” she said. “It helped tonight. Thank you.”  
“Potter and his lot use it, too,” murmured Draco and was unsettled by the dark look on his godfather’s face.   
“He will understand, Severus,” Narcissa said again.  
But the Potions Master shook his head. “I may have stolen from you, too. Dumbledore and I were able to create a spell to communicate telepathically.”  
“Are you telling me,” began Narcissa, “that Dumbledore dipped his toes in dark magic?”  
Severus scowled. “All for the Greater Good.”

Draco was uncomfortable with the comradery between the two adults. His mother looked at him sharply and shook her head. “Mind your thoughts, you degenerate. I saw what you’ve been up to with one of Kabir Patil’s daughters. I am honor and oath bound to your father. Severus and I are just friends.”  
Draco was mortified and quickly realized his godfather was too.   
“Can you read my thought whenever you want?”  
“I can read your face,” she retorted before turning back to Snape. “Tell him, now, Severus. Or I will.”

Snape glared at his mother before sucking in his lips. Then, with a sigh he looked to Draco. “It is my mission to protect Harry Potter, son of Lily Potter, nee Evans.”

Confusion enveloped Draco. “Why?” he asked, pushing down the jealousy he felt that Potter also had the protection of his godfather.  
“She was my best friend. And, although unreciprocated, the love of my life.”

“But you hate Potter,” said Draco.   
“He’s his father’s copy. A menace, not worthy of Lily’s memory.”  
“Why would she marry a man you hated? If you were best friends? I don’t understand.”

The elves had stopped their ministrations and, as if sensing danger, quickly moved away from the sour Potions Master. “She did not approve of my associations,” Snape ground out. He jerked slightly when Narcissa took his hand.  
“He will understand,” she said again, firmly.  
Snape’s expression changed for just a moment as she looked at him and then, looking at Draco, he continued. “She was what you would call a goody-goody. She was so eager to prove that she belonged in our world and her questions were never-ending. I was sorted into Slytherin without a moment’s hesitation. But the hat took forever before placing her in Gryffindor.” 

Draco swallowed hard. He did understand, but he didn’t want to. He looked sharply at his mother, who met his gaze directly.

Snape continued. “James Potter was the worst kind of wizard. Conceited, popular and self-absorbed. We were immediate rivals and he used his popularity and connections to make my time at Hogwarts unbearable. The Gryffindors did what they do best and convinced themselves, and anyone who would listen, that all Slytherins were inherently bad. To be fascinated with the Dark Arts made us evil. To question if there were better, more efficient ways of doing magic, was a sure sign of a depraved mind.”

The smallest house elf had prepared tea and handed a cup to the Professor. He accepted the cup blindly and continued. “The older Slytherins were impressed by my natural abilities. It was only among their kind that I was … accepted. I clung to their words like the overlooked, little, nobody that I was. And ideas that I should never have believed became my doctrine.”

Snape looked at Draco, his stare so focused it was more forceful than that of Voldemort’s, and Draco could not look away. “So, it was without a thought, as careless as breathing, that I called the purest person I had ever known, a mudblood.”

Snape’s confession was more revealing than his kneeled, bare-chested form. This man of secrets was on display before him and he wanted to shrink away.   
“So that’s it?” Draco asked when his godfather sipped his tea. “You abandoned your friend to become a Death Eater?”  
Severus stilled.   
“How does that warrant your devotion to Potter?” Draco asked. “Your friendship ended, or you would never have joined the Death Eaters. She would have stood behind you when the Gryffindor’s talked their stupid shit. You decided she wasn’t a real witch and she and her stupid husband died. What should that matter to you?”

It happened so quickly, Draco fell from his chair. One moment his godfather had sat dejected in front of him and the next the man’s wand was digging into the skin at Draco’s throat. “I loved her!”

“You didn’t,” Draco stammered, afraid, but unwilling to stop. “You loved the idea of her.”

His godfather leaned back quickly, his wand at Draco’s face, and then he faced Narcissa. “You said he would understand!” he shouted.   
“I think he does,” she replied. “You’ve been manipulated by Dumbledore, Severus.”  
She turned to Draco, “But he did love her, Draco. She was his first real friend. For a long time, she was his family.”

“What really happened?” Draco asked after his godfather stepped away.  
Severus and his mother were silent, but Draco knew they were somehow communicating with each other.  
“Intelligence I provided to the Dark Lord resulted in her murder,” Severus enunciated slowly as he leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. “I am the reason Harry Potter is an orphan. Because of me, he is, perhaps, the only chance at stopping the Dark Lord.”

“Of course, he is,” said Draco, sounding resigned. “I bet he just loves that.”  
The men sneered together and Narcissa sighed as she warmed her hands from the heat of her porcelain teacup. 


	17. Muddled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of the dialogue used in this chapter is taken verbatim from _The Phoenix Lament_, the twenty-ninth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling.
> 
> TW: graphic content

In her third year, when Professor Snape had assigned them the essay on werewolves, Hermione had been very thorough in her research. So, as she held the bandage to the wound at Bill’s throat, she was aware that it was unlikely any contamination would result in his becoming a werewolf. But, her research had not prepared her for what the grizzly injuries would look like in real life. 

Madam Pomfrey had been able to successfully apply dittany and powdered silver to his neck, but his face was another matter. The skin was not only torn open, but stretched and distended. She could see his cheek bone, the skin hanging down and revealing his teeth as well. She was to apply the green ointment to his face every eight minutes. She would not fail him in this.

_Granger!_ She heard Malfoy’s voice in her head. His warning had not stopped sounding in her mind since he had yelled it during the battle. He’d saved her by sacrificing Bill. Not that he’d done it on purpose, she knew. But she would never have had a chance if Bill hadn’t jumped in front of her. And that was all she could see whenever she closed her eyes. The ferocious face of the werewolf as he ran towards her while she tried to maneuver herself to cast a curse. And, as Malfoy’s voice carried to her, Bill turned and put himself between her and the beast. 

“Madam Pomfrey said your spell work saved him,” Luna said softly beside Hermione.  
Hermione had repeatedly cast _Vulnera Sanentur_ on his neck and face while the fighting had continued around them. It has been the only spell she could think of, remembering it was the one used by Snape when Harry had cursed Malfoy. She repeated the spell three times, but the werewolf bites resisted the magic. So, she kept repeating it until Nymphadora Tonks had dragged her to the Hospital Wing.   
“He’d never have needed saving if he hadn’t protected me,” Hermione replied.  
“No, this was going to happen to him, Hermione. All of the layers and lines ended with this attack. And there were many that were so much worse than this. Some of the layers stopped with the both of you covered with a sheet.”   
  
_Granger!_  
Malfoy’s voice echoed in her thoughts once more. Hermione flinched.

Hermione’s lessons with McGonagall had veered into the territory of the Oculi Somniantes on multiple occasions and she was much more open to the possibility that the power in Luna allowed her to see another facet of magic. And, although, her own experiences with the time turner her third year left her no room to doubt that time was not absolute, she still found it nearly impossible to believe Luna could see multiple outcomes at one time, or that she would be able to manipulate situations to obtain the particular outcome she desired. 

For as much doubt as Hermione had about the Weaver Line, however, she had faith in Luna’s gift of observation. “What did you see?” she asked the blonde; not sure she would really believe the answer.  
“Greyback killed you with one blow and then turned on Bill.”  
“How badly did he injure Bill?”  
“He played with him before killing him.”  
“What stopped him, then, in this… layer?” Hermione asked.

But Luna was looking to the door of the Hospital Wing. Ginny had arrived, pulling Harry with her by his hand. Hermione resisted the temptation to run to Harry and bury her guilt in his embrace. Her eight minutes were up and Bill needed her focus, not her tears. 

She listened distractedly to Harry, Ron and Lupin as they discussed Bill’s condition while she dabbed the ointment at the grotesque wounds. And then, when Ron questioned why Dumbledore wasn’t helping, Ginny’s voice was like a clang, reverberating through the hospital wing.

“Dumbledore’s dead,” the younger girl said.

Hermione’s hand shook, causing the ointment to drip down Bill’s chin, and Lupin cried out. His denial was short, but the horror filled the room and settled on all those present. Harry offered no contradiction and Lupin fell into the empty seat beside Hermione.

Carefully, Hermione mopped up the ointment and applied it to the gaping gashes. She felt herself tense, waiting for Harry to tell them what Malfoy had done. Malfoy’s appearance all school year long, his likely involvement with the necklace and the poison, all that time in the Room of Requirement and his practical admission to letting the Death Eaters in. Was he a murderer? 

_Granger!  
_His scared warning kept repeating in her head. Was he a murderer? No. No, she wouldn’t believe that he was.

“Snape killed him,” said Harry.  
Hermione looked up, startled by those unexpected words. Professor Snape? Not Malfoy. He didn’t do it! He didn’t kill – Oh… Oh, Professor Dumbledore… The sadness assailed Hermione and she forced herself to focus again on Harry.

“We heard someone racing up the stairs. Dumbledore immobilized me while I was under the Invisibility Cloak and then Malfoy burst through the door. He disarmed Dumbledore at the same time Dumbledore cast the spell on me. More Death Eaters came, followed by Snape. And Snape did it. Snape cast the _Avada Kedavra –” _Harry stopped, his eyes distant and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Hermione looked over to Luna who seemed genuinely confused. Hermione felt dreadful. The two girls had chosen to trust Snape. What if they hadn’t? Would the headmaster still be alive if not for them? Was he really dead? Snape was not really a Death Eater! Perhaps, it had been a trick!

But the night was suddenly filled with the sound of the phoenix song. Fawkes, she was certain. And his song was tragic, his pain and sorrow settling on the grounds of Hogwarts and all who occupied its space.

“Bill’s parents are on their way,” McGonagall said, startling Hermione. She had not noticed the woman enter the Hospital Wing. Hermione had lost all track of time but, thankfully, had continued to apply the ointment to Bill’s injuries. She was surprised to see that the swelling was diminishing. Hopefully, the wounds would be able to close soon. His face and neck would be forever scarred, though.

Harry was standing at Bill’s bed, Ginny and Ron beside him. As Hermione looked at the two red heads, she felt a fresh wave of guilt. She closed her eyes to steady herself but saw the face of Greyback again. _Granger!_

Luna grabbed Hermione’s free hand and squeezed it, the movement bringing Hermione back to reality. She squeezed Luna’s hand in return and focused on the conversation between Harry and the Order. 

Lupin was despondent as he spoke. “We always knew that he was highly skilled at Occlumency.”  
“But Dumbledore was adamant that he was on our side!” said Tonks.  
“He was positive that Snape was a reformed man,” said McGonagall, “and that there was no question of his remorse.”  
“What I wouldn’t give to know what he said that would convince Dumbledore,” Tonks said.  
“I know,” Harry murmured and was hardly aware as the group turned to look at him. “It was Snape who brought Voldemort’s attention to my parents. He passed on information that convinced Voldemort to kill them, but he said he didn’t realize that would be what would happen. He said he was sorry they were dead.”

“Why would Dumbledore believe that?” asked Lupin. “Snape would never have cared if James died; he _hated_ him.”  
“And he thought of my mother as a mudblood – he even called her that.”

“Harry,” Hermione broke in, “did he mean it?” Her own question surprised her.  
“What?” asked Harry. “Did he mean it when he called her a mudblood. Of course, he did.”  
“How do you know, though? Did he call her that because he believed it?”  
“What’s gotten into you?” Ron asked. “Why would he say it if he didn’t mean it?”  
“It’s just that he didn’t deny he was once a Death Eater. Or that he associated with the wrong sort when he was a student here. And even if he meant it at the time, did he still believe it later?” She stopped, struggling to find the words when she felt the warm pressure of Luna’s hand as she squeezed hers again.   
“Malfoy hasn’t called me a mudblood this term, Harry. And he’s had numerous opportunities! If he could stop using it, while immersed in Voldemort’s control, I am sure Snape could, too. He could even have come to regret using it.”  
“Why are you defending him?” asked Ron. Hermione wasn’t sure which him he was referring to.   
“I trust Dumbledore. And he trusted Snape,” she answered.

“Malfoy called you a mudblood tonight,” Harry said. “He told Dumbledore that it was because of the ‘Mudblood Granger’ that he figured out how to get poison into Hogwarts.”  
“Did he mean it? Or was he playing a part to get through what he was expected to do? He saved me twice tonight, Harry. Twice. He urged me to find my friends when Bellatrix was coming. And –” she swallowed her desire to cry, “and it was because of him that Bill was able to save me from Greyback. Greyback was coming straight for me when Malfoy called out my name to warn me.”  
“He put up a buffer, too,” said Luna.   
“What?” asked Harry, Hermione and Ron at the same time.  
“As he ran past to make his way to the tower, he cast a charm that caused Greyback to recoil. It was why Greyback didn’t kill Ginny’s brother tonight.”

“I did see him cast a spell,” said Ginny, looking back and forth between Harry and Ron. “While I was shielding Neville, I saw Greyback attack Bill. At first, I thought Malfoy was cursing him while he was down. Or cursing Hermione. But when Greyback fled after him and I saw that Hermione was tending to Bill, I put all my focus back on keeping Neville safe. And aside from Bill’s wounds from Greyback, Madam Pomfrey assures me there are no other injuries.”

Ron seemed ready to argue, but stopped short and shook his head instead.   
“Great,” Harry said darkly. “Malfoy might have a redeeming quality or two, but Snape murdered Dumbledore. I saw it! Dumbledore begged Snape to help him, but the coward cast the Killing Curse instead. I don’t care if he meant it when he called my mother a mudblood, or not. He is still a murderer!”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Luna in a very quiet voice. “I think there is more to this.”  
Harry turned to her and clenched his fists at his side.   
“What do you mean, Miss Lovegood?” asked Professor McGonagall.  
“Just what I said.”

Professor McGonagall looked expectantly at Luna, but seemed to accept that the odd girl would provide nothing further. “This is my fault,” McGonagall said to the group. “I asked Filius to retrieve Snape. Perhaps, he would have remained in his office unaware of the night’s activities and Dumbledore would still be alive.”  
“Tonight was his time, Professor,” Luna said. 

Ron rolled his eyes in Luna’s direction, but Harry just stared at her.  
“It was a relief to think that Snape was on his way, Minerva,” said Lupin. “We were in need of his aid.”  
“But what did he do when he arrived?” asked Harry. “Did he attack the Order?”

“So much was happening, I’m not sure anyone is confident on what exactly happened,” McGonagall said. “We, along with Remus, Bill and Nymphadora, were patrolling the castle on Dumbledore’s orders, but all seemed secure. I don’t know how the Death Eaters were able to enter…”

“Nothing redeeming about Malfoy there, Professor,” Harry said while eyeing Hermione. “He got them into the castle through the Room of Requirement.” His expression became almost remorseful, however, when he saw the devastated look on Hermione’s face.

“I messed up,” said Ron, his appearance also miserable. “When I couldn’t find Malfoy on the map, me, Ginny and Neville went to keep watch outside the Room of Requirement.   
“After about an hour or so, he came out on his own,” Ginny said, “gripping that shriveled, horrible arm of his –”  
“The Hand of Glory,” said Ron. “Remember? It only let’s the person holding it see any light. As soon as he saw us he used Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder –”  
“The twins really need to stop selling that to just anybody…”  
“We tried loads of spells, but nothing could help us see,” Ron continued.  
“We had to blindly make our way out of the corridor again, listening to all the Death Eaters rush past us,” said Ginny.  
“Malfoy did a good job keeping them away from you, then, as he was the only one who could see,” said Luna.  
“Probably afraid we’d mess up their plans by separating them,” Ron huffed.  
Luna just looked at him, seeming unperturbed.

“Fortunately,” began Lupin, “the two of you, along with Neville, ran into us and informed us what had happened. Within minutes we had caught up with the Death Eaters. Young Malfoy did not appear to have any more of the powder so we were able to fight them. One of the Death Eaters ran up the tower stairs –”  
“Did he set of the mark?” Harry asked.  
“That seems likely. Whatever it was he was up to didn’t take him very long. He was running back down when he was hit by a Killing Curse that was likely meant for me; it just barely missed me.”

Harry turned to Hermione and waited, seeming to already know where she had been.  
Hermione started dabbing the ointment at Bill’s wounds again until she felt Ginny’s gentle hands take the cloth from her.   
_Granger!  
_There was no anger in Ginny’s expression.

“Luna and I were waiting outside of Professor Snape’s office when Neville sent a coded message on the galleon that Death Eaters were in the castle and they had been unable to stop them. Luna went to alert Snape while I went to find someone from the Order to notify them of what had happened and that’s when I ran into Malfoy. He didn’t deny letting them in. But when we heard Bellatrix he begged me to leave. He said he couldn’t fight them with me.”  
“And why not, the tosser?” yelled Ron. “Too afraid his mommy and daddy would disown him?”  
“I don’t think he told them I was there,” Hermione continued, ignoring Ron’s outburst. “I ran into Bill on the stairs.”

“I thought Flitwick told Snape,” said Harry. “It was you?” he asked Luna. “What happened?”  
“I never got the chance to tell him before Professor Flitwick arrived,” began Luna. “I don’t think Professor Flitwick even saw me before he told Professor Snape the Death Eaters were in the castle. He had been panting and fainted, so Professor Snape asked me to stay with him while he joined the others.”  
“Fainted?” asked Professor McGonagall.  
Luna looked at her. “In retrospect, that seems unlikely. I wasn’t looking at him when he collapsed. I wasn’t really looking at Professor Snape, either, so I don’t know what really happened.”  
“What were you looking at?” asked Ron.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked Luna. “He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”  
Luna offered Harry a small smile. “No. We had been talking about my mother. He knew her, did you know? ... There is more to this,” Luna said urgently to Professor McGonagall. “I used the Oculi Somniantes. He was so worried I would find his secrets, but I don’t think they are dark.”

Lupin had inhaled sharply at Luna’s words and Harry looked to him before looking back at Luna.   
“Minerva?” Lupin asked.   
“It is confirmed,” the Professor said.  
Tonks, who had been standing to the side, came forward. “What is confirmed?”

Remus Lupin approached Luna tentatively. “It must be incredibly strong if you were able to confirm it,” said Lupin to McGonagall.  
Harry looked over to Ron and Ginny, but the siblings looked as confused as he was. Hermione, however, was looking intently at Luna and Lupin.  
“Dumbledore confirmed it,” said Luna. “And he knew tonight was coming.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Tonks. “What is confirmed?”  
“Ms. Lovegood has a very rare magical skill," Lupin replied.  
"An ability," McGonagall continued, "presumed vanished until her mother showed tendencies towards it. Only Albus, Professor Flitwick and myself were aware of the depth of Pandora’s talent. Oculi Somniantes is, for lack of a better word, the third eye.”

Ron snorted and Ginny glared at him.   
“But, Professor,” began Harry, “I didn’t think you put much stock in divination.”  
“I don’t. This isn’t a craft, Mr. Potter. Oculi Somiantes is something else entirely,” said his Head of House.  
“The theory is that all witches and wizards have a non-functional capability to see magic, not just use it,” said Lupin. “Occasionally, a witch or wizard may glimpse this phenomenon and experience a brief epiphany of the future.”  
“Is that how prophesies are made?” asked Tonks.  
“According to this theory, yes,” said Lupin. “Some magical folk are more likely to experience this than others, which is why there is the school of divination. They are, in short, trying to train themselves to 'turn on' this ability.”  
“When in reality, it is sheer, dumb luck their predictions ever turn out to be correct,” declared McGonagall.

“Yes, well,” continued Lupin, “the Oculi Somniantes is the term for this lost ability. And the ability isn’t really about seeing the future, it is about seeing magic in action. Seeing magic as it forms, before the witch or wizard even knows what spell will be used. Very little is known about this power. We only have the theory that all of us were able to use it at one point. It has been believed to have died out, but if Dumbledore confirmed that Luna has it…”

Lupin turned back to Luna. “What does it look like?”  
“Strings. Cords. Lines. Layers and reflections and mirrors and possibilities. And, tonight, shapes, too.”  
“How many people know about this?” Lupin asked.  
“Until tonight it had been the Grey Lady, Dumbledore, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Hermione. Professor Trelawney guessed based on my questions, as did Firenze.” Luna shook, recalling the prophecy that Trelawney had foretold and the warnings both she and Firenze had given her. Dumbledore had told her to look for signs the prophesy was unfolding before sharing it with anyone else.

“This cannot leave this space,” ordered McGonagall. “Voldemort cannot know about this.”  
“Good thing Snape doesn’t know, then,” said Harry. “Since we know he loves giving Voldemort information that could get people killed.”  
“He knows,” said Luna. “But he won’t tell.”

“Snape knows?” Harry asked, alarm in his voice.  
“He guessed tonight. He said he recognized the signs because he knew my mother.”

The hospital wing doors swung open, startling the group, as Molly and Arthur Weasley hurried in, followed closely by Fleur Delacour. Mrs. Weasley had eyes only for the beds, looking first on Neville’s sleeping form before finding that of her son.   
“Oh, Bill!” she wailed and hurried to his bedside. “Bill,” she whispered.

Hermione quickly rose from her seat, tears streaming down her cheeks. This was all her fault. If she had only been quicker with her wand, Malfoy wouldn’t have screamed her name. _Granger!_ echoed in her head again. Bill would never have turned around. She closed her eyes and nearly screamed as the face of Greyback taunted her. Opening them quickly again, she watched Bill’s family tend to him. 

Molly had taken the space Tonks had retreated from in order to kiss Bill’s forehead. Arthur, standing in front of the chair Lupin had vacated, turned to the werewolf. “What will happen to him, Remus? He was attacked by a werewolf.”  
“It is a unique situation. There is not a full moon, so it is very unlikely he will be turned. But, Greyback has found a way to maintain many of his wolf features at will. We should expect that there will be some contamination.”  
Hermione recoiled.   
“We don’t really know what we are facing until he wakes up,” Lupin finished.

Molly took the ointment from Ginny and began tending to Bill herself. “You have done this long enough,” she told her daughter.  
“I just took over for Hermione, mum. She has been tending to him most of the night.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned at Hermione before resuming her care with her son. Hermione couldn’t blame her, it was her fault after all, but it still hurt. It came as some surprise to her when Fleur pulled her closer to the bed to stand vigil next to her, her arms around Hermione’s shoulders as if to offer her strength.   
“Thank you for not leaving him," Fleur murmured quietly. "I theenk it was good of you to stay by Bill’s side." But her words only caused the guilt to rise up again.

“Minerva…” said Mr. Weasley, “Dumbledore? Is he?”  
He bowed his head at Professor McGonagall’s nod. His wife seemed oblivious to the interaction, her focus only on Bill. Tears fell from Molly's eyes onto Bill’s deformed skin.

“Of course, it doesn’t matter how he looks… It’s not r-really important… but he was a very handsome little b-boy… always very handsome… and he was g-going to be married!”  
“And what do you mean by zat?” said Fleur suddenly and loudly, pulling away from Hermione. “What do you mean, ‘ ‘e was _going_ to be married?’”  
Startled, Molly raised her face. “Well – only that –”  
“You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?” demanded Fleur. “You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?”  
“No, that’s not what I –”  
“Because ‘e will!” said Fleur, drawing herself up to her full height and throwing back her long mane of silver hair. “It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!”  
“Well, yes, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Weasley, “but I thought perhaps – given how – how he –”  
“You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps, you hoped?” said Feur, her nostrils flaring. “What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! I shall do zat!” she added fiercely, pushing Mrs. Weasley aside and snatching the ointment from her. 

Mrs. Weasley leaned into her husband and watched Fleur attend to Bill. And then she looked to Hermione. “Thank you for keeping him alive until the fight was over, Hermione. Madam Pomfrey said your attention kept him from bleeding out.”

Hermione’s face crumpled and she burst into tears. “He jumped in front of Greyback to save me!” she cried. “He nearly died because of me! He’s contaminated because of me!”  
“No!” shouted Mr. Weasley. Hermione felt four strong arms around her when he and Mrs. Weasley rushed forward and embraced her. “It was battle, Hermione. You would have done the same.”

They wept together and Hermione was relieved that some of the tension in her chest seemed to ease. 

“I theenk,” said Fleur, “zat ‘Ermione will join Geeny and Gabrielle to stand with me on my wedding day.”  
“Fleur,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Our Great-Auntie Muriel has a very beautiful tiara – goblin made – which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair.”  
“Thank you,” said Fleur. “I am sure zat will be lovely.”

Hermione listened as the conversation moved around her. Tonks, feeling empowered by Fleur’s devotion to Bill, argued with Lupin that he should stop fighting their own relationship. And some of their group joined in. McGonagall even maintained that Dumbledore would be pleased to know that the world had more love. But the melancholy mood returned when Hagrid, beaten down and teary-eyed, arrived and explained that he had moved Dumbledore’s body.

Time, it seemed, had caught up with them. Professor McGonagall sent Hagrid on another errand and requested Harry leave with her. But before the Professor left, she signaled to Lupin. He seemed to understand her, and nodded his head as she and Harry retreated after Hagrid.

“What happens now?” asked Ron. “Do we just go on like normal tomorrow, as if nothing happened?”  
“Not possible,” said Ginny. “The Head of Slytherin murdered the Headmaster. I don’t think we can just pretend that didn’t happen.”  
“They will likely close the school,” said Lupin. “Perhaps indefinitely.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Neville’s soft moans and Ron went to retrieve Madam Pomfrey. When Ginny went to Neville, Lupin motioned for Luna and Hermione to join him in the seats furthest from the occupied beds. Tonks seemed to understand his desire for privacy, and kept guard several feet away from them.

“How much do you know about Luna’s ability, Hermione?” he asked, but it was Luna who answered.  
“More than anyone.”  
“Are the theories right at all?”  
“Much of what you said,” answered Hermione, “seemed to infer a great deal from what Professor McGonagall recommended I read; she said that was the best resource, but you seem to have come to conclusions that weren’t offered in that little bit of reading.”  
“There are a handful of other resources, and none of them are detailed. The few scholars interested in the subject have made assumptions or hypotheses. But, it is more of a niche curiosity than a tangible discipline. As I said, the Oculi Somniantes is understood to be inert in all of us.”  
“How do you identify it? And how do you know it is still present at all?” asked Hermione.

“I can see it,” said Luna stiffly. She quickly looked at Hermione, her expression hinting there was more for the two to discuss later, before turning her attention back to their former professor. “I assume my mother could, too. Is she who provided the information?”  
“I don’t know who it was, but allegedly, any time someone is discovered who has the ability, they are asked to verify if it is still present in the rest of us. There were rumors that a witch had it while I was in school, but as far as I know, they were never substantiated. This talent is believed to have died out quickly more than a century ago. The new generation born at the time were unable to see the magic.”

But Lupin was interested in another matter. “You indicated that there was more to Snape’s actions. What did you see?”  
Hermione was curious what Luna would tell him regarding her visions. It was her decision. So far, he and Professor McGonagall were only referencing the Oculi Somniantes. Hermione was not sure if anyone other than the Grey Lady and herself were aware that Luna was potentially a Weaver. If, of course, she reminded herself, such a thing existed.

The ambiance shifted slightly and Hermione watched Luna. The blonde girl was examining Lupin and then her eyes darted about as if she were looking at something fluttering about his head. Hermione felt as if the air were charged with electricity… or magic. 

She remembered the first time she had witnessed magic and been told what it was. She had gone downstairs at her father’s beckoning and seen Professor McGonagall waiting with him. She had been excited to learn that she was being considered for a prestigious school. And relieved when she understood that her parents wanted her to explore the strange things she was capable of and that she had hidden from the world prior to that day.

Hermione’s first bout of accidental magic – that she could remember – occurred with Iris. Her cousin had been coloring on brightly colored paper. Hermione had wanted Iris to draw a norwall, and when she refused, Hermione focused on the whale on the paper and watched as a long, sharp horn jutted out of its head. The drawings became animated and she and Iris laughed together. Just like this moment, the air was charged when the drawings came to life. 

When McGonagall performed her simple charms for Hermione and her family, there was no static. It was marvelous, certainly, but she didn’t feel it. Whatever magic Luna was performing, Hermione could feel it. Just as she had when it had exploded out of her as a child, before she learned to control it. And just as it had when she had accidentally used legilimency on her parents.

Luna smiled serenely at Hermione before turning back to Lupin.   
“I meant just what I said, Mr. Lupin. There is more to this than what was witnessed tonight. Nothing about Professor Snape seemed sinister to me, tonight. And while he was protective of his secrets, it was not from shame, but because he was worried for the danger I might face knowing them.”  
“But what did you see?” Lupin asked again.

Luna sat quietly for a moment before addressing Hermione. “Do you always answer a question when you know the answer?” she asked her.  
“I want to,” said Hermione without hesitation.  
“When do you not answer a question?”  
“When I don’t know the answer. Or, when I don’t have a firm grasp of the answer. I may provide what I know, but I would typically follow-up with a question of my own.”

Luna turned to Lupin. “Why do you need to know what I saw? Would you even understand it if I explained it to you?”

Luna rose from her seat and made her way to Neville without a backwards glance at Lupin or Hermione.   
It wasn’t long before Madam Pomfrey instructed Hermione, Luna, Ginny and Ron to return to their dorms. And after her toiletries, when she had settled herself into her bed and resisted her body's need for her to close her eyes, Hermione listened to the poignant song of Fawkes, whose music still carried into the night. She searched the air around her, imagining she could see the magic of his melody dancing like ribbon in front of her. 

And when the silence settled she was sound asleep, undisturbed by terrifying images of monsters and death; calmed by the gift of the phoenix’s final farewell.


	18. The Language of Grief

It had become a habit, and probably not a very good one. But instead of adjusting his glasses, or touching the blasted scar on his forehead, Harry had started rolling the horrible, counterfeit locket in his fingers. He tried to keep this habit from his friends, but Hermione was always a perceptive witch. And Luna… even if they had been skittish with each other since Christmas, well, she could see right through him. 

When he was with Ginny, though, he had other things on his mind besides the locket. She was his sanctuary. His temporary relief from the future he knew he couldn’t be shielded from anymore. 

He rolled the locket along the fingers of his hand inside his pocket as the bitter anger burned in his chest. Dumbledore had been weakened by their efforts to obtain one of Voldemort’s horcruxes, and it had all been such a waste. The real horcrux wasn’t there! And Dumbledore had suffered the poisoned safeguard for nothing! 

And now, Dumbledore was gone. There would be no more distractions; no more sanctuary. Harry would find the remaining horcruxes and he would end this before anyone else had to suffer or die. He knew enough to start searching immediately… _Something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s … Slytherin’s locket … Helga Hufflepuff’s cup … Voldemort’s snake … something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s … Slytherin’s locket …_

He continued to roll the locket while he walked with Hermione and Ron and watched Ginny walk with Luna as they all made their way down to the lake. Neville was just ahead of them, trailing behind Professors McGonagall and Flitwick and the other Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students. Harry tried to enjoy these last few moments before Dumbledore was entombed and Harry would have to move forward with his search of the horcruxes. The first step was to break things off with Ginny; he was a danger to her and would be even more so when he started on this mission. He couldn’t take his eyes of her, though. She was with Luna, their bright hair shining in the sunlight as they supported each other on the trek down to the place where Dumbledore would be laid to rest.

“Wonder what it means that it’s such a beautiful day?” Neville said, his voice carrying. The young man still walked with a slight limp, having been hit with a nasty curse during the battle at the Astronomy Tower. “They say it’s better if it rains at a funeral,” he continued.  
“Dumbledore wouldn’t have wanted it any other way,” Luna replied.   
“What is the wizarding world’s take on rain at a funeral?” asked Hermione. “I’ve only heard the muggle superstition that the deceased would go to heaven…”  
Ron nodded his head. “It’s the same, really. Just that they’ve safely made it beyond the Veil.”  
“Well, my Gran is positive there will be opinions from some here that it means he’s a ghost,” said Neville.  
Both Luna and Harry snorted, causing Harry to smile at Luna. But he suddenly felt awkward; he still needed to make things right with her.  
Neville grinned. “Gran snorted at the idea, too.”

Harry remembered his manic hope that, shortly after Bellatrix had murdered Sirius in the Department of Ministries, his godfather had come back as a ghost. Nearly Headless Nick had valiantly tried to make Harry feel better, but he had always felt a bit betrayed that Sirius had abandoned him. It was irrational, he understood, and the guilt sat heavily with the resentment. When Hermione had told him about the Grey Lady’s depiction of ghosts, somehow that fear in her voice did more to alleviate Harry’s disappointment than anything else. Sirius would have been miserable. And after Harry was gone, he would have been alone.

No, Harry and Dumbledore had many conversations about escaping death. And just as Sirius had done, Dumbledore would have accepted the end with integrity.

Beside him, Hermione spoke softly. “Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me.”  
“What?” asked Harry, momentarily concerned he had voiced his thoughts out loud.  
The group had reached the chairs by the shore of the lake. There was already an assortment of mourners there, including the castle ghosts.   
Hermione turned to him as the others looked for seats. “It’s from a poem by Emily Dickinson. She was an American poet, known for her poignant and succinct writing.”  
“What does it mean, though?” asked Harry.  
“Madam Pince suggested it to me when I was researching ghosts… She wrote it because she thought eternity sounded exhausting and, although it is our nature to fear the unknown, that death would be a relief. It struck me, now, as something Dumbledore might say.”

“There aren’t even any seats left with my family,” said Ron, walking back with Ginny. “We’ll have to split up, three and three. I figured Harry would want to sit with Ginny, so Hermione, you can sit with Luna and Neville. Luna’s saving ours for now.”  
Ginny smacked Ron, but Hermione, not looking surprised, made her way across the aisle to the seat by Neville.

“It will begin soon,” said Ginny. She held her hand out to Harry and Harry fought down his sadness.   
Dumbledore was gone. Neville was still healing. Bill was permanently disfigured. And it could have been so much worse. Hermione was almost killed. If not for Bill, she would be dead. … And _Malfoy_. If not for Malfoy, both she and Bill would be dead.  
He rolled the locket with his other hand.

… _Something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s … Slytherin’s locket … Helga Hufflepuff’s cup … Voldemort’s snake … something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s … Slytherin’s locket …_

He had to find the horcruxes. But, then what? Dumbledore never told him _how_ to destroy them. 

Harry distractedly observed the attendees and noted he would need to be prepared in case Minister Scrimgeour, who was sitting with Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff, tried to interrogate him again. Firenze was at the water’s edge, and Harry was surprised at the smile tempting his lips when Delores Umbridge scuttled away from the Centaur. And, as an ethereal music began, Ginny pointed to the merpeople just under the surface of the water. The sound was strange, but not unpleasant, and resonated with the same sense of loss that Fawkes’s song had the night that Dumbledore had died.

He watched, feeling detached and as though he were only a spectator, when Hagrid walked slowly up the aisle between the chairs. Colossal tears were streaming down the half-giant’s face as he carried what Harry knew to be Dumbledore’s body, wrapped in fine, purple velvet that was spangled with shimmering, golden stars. 

Dumbledore was dead. He would never come back. His legacy would become just a memory, his name an etching in stone that would be diminished by time. As the tears fell from his eyes, Harry turned away from Ginny and Ron and looked toward the forest and saw that the Centaurs stood, bows at their side, hidden by the cover of the trees. The proud forest-dwellers had come to pay their respects to the departed wizard.

Dumbledore was gone. Sirius. Harry’s parents. There was no one left to move the inevitable forward but Harry himself. He would not let anyone else come between him and Voldemort. Harry would not stop, until death or victory made him.

And at that moment, when he accepted this truth, flames erupted around Dumbledore’s shrouded body and the white, stone table on which it lay. Several funeral-goers screamed at the abruptness of the happenings. Arrows from the Centaurs shot across the spectators and landed around the headmaster’s body while white smoke ascended into the air. In shock, Harry thought that he saw a phoenix arise and fly into the air jubilantly, but it and the fire were gone in an instant. And in the now clear space, a marble tomb encased Dumbledore’s body.

Conversations began around them as people made their way to leave, but Harry just looked into Ginny’s beautiful, brown eyes. He tried not to think about how good it felt to kiss her; or how soft her skin was. He tried to steel himself to say goodbye to the comfort of sitting with her, and the joy of discussing Quidditch. He refused to think about how empty it would feel when she was no longer his to turn to.  
“Ginny, we need to stop …” he began.   
Ron, looking very uncomfortable, hurried away in the direction of the other three.  
“I don’t really know how to say this, so I am just going to get it out,” Harry went on. “We can’t be together anymore. We’ve got to stop seeing each other.”  
“Is this your way of being noble?” she asked, an odd smile on her face.  
“These last few weeks have been a dream come true,” said Harry. “But, I can’t … we can’t … I’ve got things to do alone now.”  
Ginny looked at him; waiting.  
“Voldemort’s already used you as bait once, when you were just my best friend’s sister to me. How much worse could it be if we keep this up? He’ll know, he’ll find out … if he hasn’t already. He’ll find a way to get you and use you to get me.”  
“What if I don’t care?” said Ginny fiercely.  
“I care,” said Harry. “There have already been too many deaths. I can’t add yours to the list.”

It hurt when she looked away from him, her focus turned to the lake. And Harry could feel them, even though they weren’t really there; the walls between them. They were both safeguarding themselves from the hurt of goodbye.

“I always found myself waiting for you, never quite giving up,” she said. “The hope that you would see me never went away. I was so shy and awestruck, I couldn’t even talk around you, remember? Hermione told me to move past you; open myself up to other people. To stop fretting about you and just relax and get to know who I am. She said you might actually notice me if I weren’t so anxious, if I were more myself.”  
“Smart girl, that Hermione,” said Harry, unable to smile. 

Uninvited, Luna’s words from the first time she found him following Malfoy came to mind: _Have you been paying attention to Hermione?_

“I wish we’d had more time,” Harry said.  
“You’ve been preoccupied, Harry. Who else will save the Wizarding World?” Ginny asked, biting back a sob with a laugh. “There isn’t any surprise in this, not really. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t chasing Voldemort and putting a stop to his evil plans.”  
Her words felt like a punch to the gut, their tone not matching their meaning.  
“This is something I have to do,” he said.  
Her expression was unreadable.   
“Your need for justice, to make things right …” she said, “to see things through, Harry … I’ve always liked that about you.”  
Harry felt the emptiness when she turned her back on him and walked away; the hurt of her departure was heavy. 

The loneliness was unbearable. Harry did not wish to remain by Dumbledore’s tomb, imagining the man he admired decomposing within. So, he, like Ginny, turned his back on this place and made his way around the lake. But it wasn’t long before a familiar scent filled the air, and he turned suddenly, expecting to find Ginny behind him. 

He was caught off guard by the shining blonde hair, tangled, but blowing softly in the wind. Luna was there instead, watching him intently. He was overwhelmed by several emotions at once; delight and guilt the strongest, but also, surprise. Sometime since Slughorn’s party, Luna had blossomed. It was more than a physical change. He and the other Gryffindor boys had catalogued those changes in most of the girls some time ago. No, this change was in her expression … her vacant looks, that had always left him feeling exposed, were more grounded. Her posture was refined. She owned herself – was confident in her own skin. How had he missed it?

“I have decided that I am done letting you to hide from me, Harry,” she said. Her voice was soft, but it seemed to flutter delicately on the air and surround him.  
“Hide?” he started, but stopped. The guilt rose up to the forefront of his emotions. “Yes, I’ve been avoiding you.” He watched her as she looked at him. It was apparent she was waiting for him to continue. 

Harry sighed. He had been in the wrong. “I’m sorry, Luna. I was uncomfortable with how we’d left things and I didn’t know how to make it right.”  
“I’m sorry, too.”  
“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t like your being friends with Slytherins, but I can’t control who you decide to hang out with.” Harry cringed. The bite to his tone was unintended.  
“You weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. I’m still learning about my gift and I had no idea how to use it then.”  
She sat down on the shore, facing out over the water.

_Her gift_, he thought as he sat down beside her. Harry didn’t understand it, or know how long she’d had it. Conversations with her made more sense, though, if he considered she had more pieces to work with than anyone else.  
“Do you know why?” Harry asked.   
There was more, but he didn’t know how to continue; embarrassed by his own curiosity.  
“Why covers a lot of questions, Harry.”  
Deciding to push aside his discomfort, he continued, “Do you know why Malfoy did what he did?”

“Why would you?” she countered.  
“I wouldn’t, Luna. That’s why I’m asking. I can’t imagine ever doing the things he’s done. And I can’t understand how you’re able to talk to Theo Nott like he isn’t going to hurt you. Or how Padma can look past their being Slytherins. I can’t do it! I knew they were dangerous, so much so I had to beg the Sorting Hat to keep me out of Slytherin!”  
“How did you know they were dangerous? You didn’t know anything about the Wizarding World…”  
“People told me; warned me.”  
“Who? People without biases?  
“People I trust!”

Luna’s eyes flashed and guilt overwhelmed him again.   
“Luna –,”  
“Biases are older than Hogwarts. Learn to find your own thoughts and you’ll finish in a better place.”  
“How can you say that to me, when you’re associating with pureblooded bigots?”  
“Are they bigots because they are purebloods? Or, because they’re Slytherins?”  
“Because of what they say and do!”

Luna nodded, seeming satisfied. “That, at least, is a better reason than I expected. So back to my original question, Harry. Why?”  
“That’s what I asked you!”  
“Why would Malfoy do it, you asked? Why is he a bigot, I asked? Are they the same answer?”  
Harry huffed. “Because of how he was raised," he said.  
“And is that a simple answer?”

Harry felt the weight of the answer in his chest, but he refused to explore it.   
He stared at Luna, but she wasn’t looking at him any longer. Her eyes were lingering on the white tomb on the other side of the shore.   
“You asked me,” Harry said, “if it were me, why I would do what Malfoy did…”

Luna turned to him and when her eyes met his, he felt everything become still around them. The lapping water stopped as though suddenly frozen. The rustling of the nearby trees was suddenly silent. Everything was quiet. His chaotic thoughts slowed and he could picture the events of the last several years – of his first meeting with Malfoy until his very last. And before he could stop it, he felt sympathy for the other boy. 

Luna smiled. Harry was not ready to return the gesture, and she laughed at him. And then, quickly, she sobered.   
“You should reconsider ending things with her.”  
“What?” he asked, startled. “Did Ginny talk to you?”  
“No.”

Harry didn’t have to ask, though. He knew she was talking about Ginny and it could only mean that she had used the Oculi Somniantes to figure it out. “How does it work?”  
“You were there when I told Mr. Lupin.”  
“I want you to tell me.”  
Luna was pulling at the odd-looking plants on the shore, tearing the leaves in her fingers to let the pieces cascade to the earth again. “Do you remember, on the way to Professor Slughorn’s party, when I told you that the Grey Lady made me accept some things about myself?”  
Harry nodded.  
“It was because of my mother that I did.”  
Harry waited.

“When the Grey Lady confronted me, I was prepared to walk away and save the discovery for another day ... or, if I’m honest with myself, to ignore it forever. But, above her head was a blue butterfly. It wasn’t really there, just a play of the misty layers surrounding her, but it was clear to me. Shimmering and vibrant, its beautiful blue wings flapping. It looked like a brooch my mother used to wear; that she wore when she died. And I felt my mother in that moment and I knew that she wanted me to accept my birthright.”  
Luna looked urgently at Harry. “It was the most horrible thing I have ever done, Harry. And I would never take it back. Not ever.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“In the beginning, it would only flare on random occasions. And it was so frightening. My mother described the experience like a thunderstorm in your body. I can’t think of a better way to explain it. I would see what I thought to be strings connecting people. And there would be multiple reflections of the people, like layers separating into different directions. My instincts have told me so much about what it all means. You and Professor Dumbledore were connected. You and Hermione and Ron. You and Ginny. You and Draco. You and Professor Snape.”  
“Are we connected?”  
He watched her hesitate.   
“If you let her go, you will damage the string connecting the two of you. I can see that it is already starting to sever. Letting her go risks never getting her back.”  
“I already knew that, Luna. I can’t put her danger. I won’t risk her, or anyone else, like that.”

Luna’s laughter caught him off guard.   
“What?” he asked.  
“You don’t expect that Hermione or Ronald will let you go alone?”  
In spite of himself, Harry smiled.   
“They are already making their way here,” Luna said.  
He looked across the water and saw his two friends slowly making their way to him and Luna.   
“I understand you won’t allow me to join the three of you,” she went on.

His chest constricted and he was distressed at the idea of her coming along. “You will not be a part of this, Luna! Promise me you'll come back to Hogwarts and the professors. I don’t know … learn more about your gift –”  
“Harry,” she cut him off, “I know.”

He swallowed and tried to control his breathing. It unsettled him how much the thought of Luna in danger terrified him. He pushed the thought away and looked at her again. Her blue eyes were regarding him patiently. 

Harry focused on her face, trying to imprint it on his memory. Her lips were a delicate pink and slightly crooked. Her dainty nose pointed, almost imperceptibly, to the left. And there was a small dimple on her chin. He was overcome with the realization that she was beautiful. 

Immediately, the shame consumed him. His thoughts returned to Ginny and her fiery personality. Would she view his observations as betrayal? If Sirius were still alive, what would he advise Harry to do? Most likely to calm down, as the lass really was beautiful and there was no harm in noticing. 

Melancholy creeped back into his body, though, at the thought of Sirius and he remembered why they were at the Lake to begin with. Luna’s expression softened.   
“They aren’t really gone, Harry. It was my mother in the butterfly I saw. She isn’t a ghost, but she’s still with me. They loved us while they lived, and beyond the Veil, they love us still.”

Luna slowly got to her feet, and Harry immediately followed her example.  
“I will let you three have your time together,” she said.   
Harry looked back towards Ron and Hermione and saw they were almost upon them.  
“But, Harry,” Luna said, removing the butterbeer cork necklace she wore, “trust the answers he gave you when searching for those he didn’t.”  
His confusion was replaced by a different kind of wonder when she cupped his face and leaned forward to kiss his cheek affectionately. “Our friendship is a bit strange, isn’t it?”  
Harry laughed again, welcoming the warmth of the moment.  
“Wear this necklace,” she said as she handed him the strand with the butterbeer cork. “My mother once explained to me that she appreciated how my Dad sees the world – that he was able to see flickers of what she could see. He may have made up the name, but there is something to Nargles. If you’re ever feeling as if your missing something, please hold the cork and remember me.” 

“Are we interrupting?” asked Ron, his tone cold.   
Harry realized with some alarm that the situation looked bad.   
“I was just saying goodbye before he goes after Voldemort. Would you like a good luck kiss, too?”

“Are we going, too, then?” asked Hermione.  
“Of course, you are,” Luna said. “I even told Harry you’d never let him go alone.”  
“And you’ll be joining us?” asked Ron. There was no hiding his discomfort in the question, but Luna just chuckled.  
“Four fate lines are not well suited for what’s ahead.”  
“When did you start reading palms?” said Ron, but Luna ignored him.

Hermione, however, was staring hard at Harry. “I think she should come.”  
“I’m barely willing to put you and Ron in the danger of joining. And Dumbledore only ever said I could share the information with you two.”  
“He and I talked, too, Hermione. Three really is a better number for what’s ahead.”  
“There you have it,” said Ron and Harry nodded his head.

Luna approached Hermione and kissed her cheek. “We aren’t done. Our lines have a strong connection.”  
Harry realized she’d never answered his earlier question, but she was already leaving. Luna looked back briefly and waved to the three of them before quickening her pace to skip away.

“Why’d you want Loony to come?” Ron asked Hermione.  
“Her name’s Luna,” Harry said. “Don’t be a prick.”

Ron’s mouth dropped and Hermione laughed.   
“I’m sorry,” Ron said. “You’re right.”

Both Harry and Hermione were surprised by Ron’s quick remorse, but the red head just shrugged his shoulders. “She’s an all right witch. We should know that more than most, what with her help last year. Neville’s lucky to have her, I suppose. They can be awkward together.”  
Hermione smacked Ron hard across the chest. “Prick!” she exclaimed.  
Harry scowled. “I thought they were just friends.”  
“What do you care?” asked Ron. “You’re with my sister.”  
“I’m not with anybody.”  
Neither Ron or Hermione looked surprised.  
“Did you make her cry?” Ron asked.  
“I hope not. But it isn’t safe for her to be with me.”

“So, this is really happening? We’re going after Voldemort’s horcruxes?” asked Hermione.  
Harry nodded.  
“After the wedding, though,” Ron put in, but then rolled his eyes at Harry, who was obviously confused. “Bill’s wedding, remember?” said Ron. “Hermione and Ginny are bridesmaids. And I have to be there.”  
“It would give me time to prepare a few things, too,” said Hermione.   
“After the wedding, then. What are you planning, Hermione?”

Their conversation was interrupted, however, when a giant eagle owl circled dangerously close to the trio before landing beside Hermione. It hooted loudly and kicked its leg out, displaying the parchment attached and the recipient, beautifully scrawled, was impossible to miss: _HJG_.

“Is that Malfoy’s owl?” asked Harry.  
The bird turned to him and appeared to scowl, its ear tufts folding back.  
Slowly, Hermione approached the owl and delicately removed the parchment from its leg. She’d barely stepped back before the bird took flight and was gone. 

She did not hide the parchment from the two boys. Together they read the simple message.

_I don’t hate you. I was a fool to ever think I did._

Harry felt his friend shake as she sucked in air.  
“Bloody idiot,” said Ron. “Did anyone see his owl? He’s going to get himself killed.”  
“You’re worried about Malfoy?” Harry asked, shocked.  
“Obviously, he isn’t as smart as you think he is,” Ron said to Hermione. 

But Hermione was shaking. “He’s in trouble. The foul, arse, is in trouble. Or, he’s just trouble. What the hell am I supposed to make of this?” she screeched, shaking the parchment in the air.  
“That the pureblood has a crush,” snorted Ron.  
“Don’t be cruel,” said Hermione.

Ron paused and looked at her. “Sweet, Merlin, you want him to!”  
“I am the mudblood, bookworm with bushy hair and ugly teeth, Ronald.”  
“That’s when you were eleven! You’re sort of pretty now.”

Harry cringed and waited for the blow, but it never happened. Instead, Hermione just raised her eyebrows at Ron and laughed.   
“You are impossible,” she said with a grin. She was glowing, though, as if Ron’s clueless words meant something to her.   
“He’s right, you know,” said Harry. “We were all awkward at eleven. You grew into your hair. Honestly, I miss being able to hide behind it.”  
She chortled. “I miss being able to use Dudley’s old shirts as a blanket. Why don’t you wear those anymore?”

The three friends slowly made their way back to the castle, the chill in the air from the setting sun urging them forward.   
“So, are we actually okay with Malfoy now?” asked Ron.  
“No,” said Harry, vehemently. “We just aren’t anti-Malfoy.”  
“Luna encouraged me to help Draco,” said Hermione.   
“I won’t be trusting Malfoy or Snape on Luna’s word,” said Harry. “I know nothing about this gift and everything about what I saw that night. Malfoy may have taken Dumbledore’s offer and joined our side if he’d had more time, but he let the Death Eaters in. And Snape murdered Dumbledore.”  
“I wish Dumbledore had been more forthcoming,” said Hermione.  
Harry snorted.  
“He saved me, though. Malfoy, I mean. Do you think I owe him a life debt?” asked Hermione.  
“We’ll have to ask Bill,” said Ron. “You might owe him, though.”  
“Bill? Perhaps. Malfoy, however, saved me twice.”  
“The first was more of an urging you not to be stupid,” said Ron. “Which, mind you, is bloody impressive he was able to convince you to do anything.”  
“You’re sounding pro-Malfoy, Ron,” said Harry.  
“I have to be.”

Harry stopped. “Why?”  
Ron kept walking with Hermione. “He saved my brother’s life. He saved Hermione, too. I’ll hate him forever, but I’ll defend him for now. Until he shows us he really is a Death Eater.”


	19. Arithmancy of Humility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter marked what would have been the end of part one, had I had the foresight to do this monster fic in parts. Perhaps, I should have been brief instead of writing 18 chapters to build the background I needed, but maybe one you as the reader didn't need or want. Call it one of the many lessons I am learning in writing my first fic, and forgive my naiveté. 
> 
> I have also learned, that a week was too optimistic. I am away from my home for twelve hours a day, and then I chase my five year old (or she chases me?) and try to help my poor, overworked husband get our house ready to sell. So, my realistic goal is now updates every 1.5-2 weeks. 
> 
> Dramione is assured in "part 2."
> 
> TW: skinny lemons, infertility, possible infidelity, complications at childbirth

The manor was angry. He could feel the fury in each vibration it sent him as he slowly made his way to its massive structure and to his family waiting inside. Severus had been efficient in his rescue and Lucius found himself on the lands that surrounded the Malfoy Manor, the stream rippling behind him, his rescuer beside him. The ground was wet and visibility was poor.

“The mist,” Lucius began, eyeing the thick fog surrounding the property, “seems unnatural.”  
In truth, it terrified him; it reminded him of the chilling presence of the dementors.  
“It first appeared after your departure,” said Severus, “and has become denser since that time.”  
“When our Dark Lord made this his residence, you mean?” asked Lucius, unable to hide his bitter tone, but Severus made no reply.

“I must assume that there was a reason we were suddenly rescued,” said Lucius.  
“Draco was able to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts,” Snape relpied.  
Lucius stood a little straighter. “I take it we are in good standing with the Dark Lord, then?” he asked, pride unmistakable in his voice.  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“He offered to open the castle to the Dark Lord. He viewed it as the best way for Potter’s capture.”  
“It wasn’t enough, was it?” Lucius asked.  
“He has the mark.”  
Lucius made note of the disappointment he felt at those words.   
“And,” Severus continued, “the Dark Lord gave him a mission.”  
“Was granting entry to Dumbledore’s domain not enough? Providing access to that miserable Potter was not enough?”  
Severus continued walking forward, his expression giving nothing away.   
“What was his mission?”  
“To kill Dumbledore,” answered Severus.  
“Why did you kill him, then?”  
“Your son is not a murderer.”  
“Yet, now my family is out of the Dark Lord’s favor! Why did you kill him?”  
“I promised your wife to protect him. I promised you when I consented to be his godfather. Which is what I have done and what I will continue to do.”

The men continued forward and Lucius asked another question. “Why wasn’t Potter captured?”  
“Bellatrix did not notify me of the plans. I was not aware they were in the castle until the fighting had begun. The last information I had was that we were to leave the boy for Voldemort to handle. She and I were both punished for our failures.”  
“Draco?”  
“_Crucio_ from the Dark Lord. And then casting the _Poenior Ignis_ on me.”  
“The Whip of Fire? Severus, that punishes the castor, too!”  
Severus was quiet as he quickly took in the lay of the land. “Narcissa assisted us both.”

Severus handed Lucius another bar of chocolate. “You must be in top form when you enter the manor. Narcissa says it is quite … troubled.”  
Lucius stumbled in his steps, but Severus had a firm hold on him. “Narcissa has discussed this with you?”  
“She has shared many … views with me,” the dark-haired man said, putting a great deal of weight in his choice of word.  
Lucius waited. He would not unwittingly provide the man beside him with information he should not be privy to.

“Have your compulsions begun?” asked Severus.  
Lucius closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Severus seemed to be privy to a surprising amount of information…  
“It was not easy to make sure that I was the one to acquire you,” Severus continued. “Thankfully, Narcissa was able to share more than a few of the Malfoy family secrets.”  
Severus had stopped and Lucius was forced to come to a halt with him.   
“Please return this to her,” said Severus.   
Severus held a pale ring with a jadeite stone out for Lucius to see. Lucius recognized the jewelry immediately. On instinct, he held open his own hand and watched as Severus dropped his wife’s ring onto his palm. The matching ring on his finger glowed softly. 

“You may go to her, Lucius.”  
“But the Dark Lord? Surely he expects my gratitude?”  
“You are spared this evening. He has been distracted. His wand failed against Potter, again.”

The two men continued in silence until they reached the gates leading to the manor.   
“I had never realized what it was that I was hearing,” said Severus. “I can’t say that I even recognized that I was hearing anything until the moment I knew what it was. The Malfoy Manor truly is an enigma."

Lucius could not respond. The ancient stones that made the home were demanding he rid this place of the filth within.   
Lucius swallowed his discomfort as his thoughts became strained. The wizards within were not filth. They were the chosen. The Dark Lord was the future. Harry Potter must die. Mudbloods must be exterminated. All glory to the Dark Lord.

He shook his head quickly. “They have begun,” he said quickly to Severus. “The compulsions have returned.” Even this small confession sent an onslaught of pain to Lucius’s head. His breathing became ragged and his already weakened limbs felt as though they would shatter.  
“May I?” asked Severus and Lucius nodded his head.

Lucius felt the other man’s presence in his mind, but it was not uncomfortable. Lucius was confident that the actions were in vain, however. The magic surrounding this curse would never allow anyone to see beyond the surface layers. Severus focused solely on Lucius’s interactions with Bellatrix. It settled Lucius to realize he needed no walls with his friend; Severus respectfully ignored any paths leading to other memories. 

“I have a theory,” Severus began, “that if I follow memories of events that I have already seen, this will be easier.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Your marriage vows. I was there at the ceremony, but also … ” Severus hesitated and Lucius realized that Narcissa had accomplished more than he could have ever anticipated.  
“What has my wife been up to?” he asked, but continued before Severus could answer. “Do it, test your theory.”

And in the blink of an eye, Lucius was back at his wedding day. Back at the exact moment the compulsions began. The first moment Narcissa was inside his head, shielding him from Bellatrix and pushing the compulsions back. The moment when his new wife’s warnings leading up to their marriage suddenly made sense. 

And then, just as quickly, he was back on the property outside his manor. Severus was no longer looking at him and Lucius felt alarm. “She’s here,” he said.  
Severus nodded. “Bellatrix has been residing here since the Dark Lord claimed the manor as his lair. The Dark Lord has also opened the manor to all of those rescued tonight. None are to return to their own homes.”  
Lucius clenched his teeth, the anger from the manor pulsating through him.  
“Go to your wife, Lucius. I’ll ponder more on what I’ve learned.”

The gates opened before them and one of the many Malfoy elves stood waiting, Lucius’s cane in his hands.   
“Master,” the creature whimpered.   
Lucius snatched the walking stick from the miserable thing and leaned heavily on it as he made his way to Narcissa. Too much had transpired and must be discussed.

Inside the gates, he felt his magic surge; strengthened by the history of his ancestors within the walls of the manor. He gripped the wand that Severus had returned to him and quickly disapparated to the master suite. The Dark Lord, no matter his ambition, would never claim these rooms unless he was the actual master of the manor. And only family could enter them at all. 

To his dismay, his body failed him when he apparated in the sitting room and he collapsed. The manor was pulsating loudly, demanding his action. The humming vibrations were quick, their rhythm harsh. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his own magic, feeling within himself for the energy that made him a wizard. And then, he raised his wand above his head and cast the spell to demand his manor recognize who he was. _Essentia Meum!_

Things were far worse than he had realized if the manor demanded such action. He would have to move quickly to rid this place of the Dark Lord. But why would he really want to do that? The Dark Lord was welcome to all that he had to offer. All of his worldly possessions were for the Dark Lord to use. His family would loyally serve. Draco must be put in his place before the Dark Lord. He would offer his wife – 

Lucius shook his head violently and slowly rose to his feet. He pulled the chocolate Severus had given him from his robes and consumed it quickly while leaning on his cane. Narcissa should have greeted him. Concern mingled with the chocolate in his belly. 

He closed his eyes again as he moved forward, opening his mental plane to her. And he felt her immediately, as images poured into his mind. He felt a mixture of fear and pride as he witnessed his son offer the Dark Lord entrance into Hogwarts. Approval at the lack of surprise Draco showed when the Dark Lord demanded his servitude. _He went there knowing what would happen_, he thought to himself.

_“The foolish boy offered himself up to restore your place among the Death Eaters_,” Narcissa’s voice echoed in his thoughts. _“And his sacrifice was for naught. We live only because the monster knows he would have no access to the manor or your funds without us.” _

Lucius bristled. _“He can have it all! He is our master and the Lord of the New World!”_

He could practically hear her snort. “_Are you a Slytherin or a puppet?”_ her voice whispered in his thoughts and he pushed down the compulsive notions once more.

He continued to make his way to their bedchambers, but his movements were slow. Narcissa would not help him, he knew, until he had seen all that his actions had cost his family thus far. He had, after all, been a Death Eater longer than he had been married. He could not blame a curse for their current situation, no matter how much it had exacerbated it. 

Through his wife’s eyes he saw images of Draco collapsing under the Dark Lord’s _Crucio_. Of Narcissa intervening. And the horror of watching Draco, far too thin, weaken with each cast of the Whip of Fire on Severus. Lucius's sinking anger and desperation were pushed aside by the compulsions of Bellatrix's curse..._The Half Breed should have had worse…_

Absently, as he fought through the treacherous thoughts, Lucius sent his wife the image of Snape inquiring about his compulsions. A brief reflection of Narcissa and Snape completing and Unbreakable Vow flittered through the barrage of memories his wife was throwing at him and he tabled that concern for now.

And then there were images of Bellatrix following Draco in Malfoy manor. Draco’s back was rigid, his hand at the ready to grab his wand. Lucius saw his fellow Death Eaters disrespecting his son and demeaning him; soliciting Narcissa and practically licking their lips. Image after image of Bellatrix watching Draco, petting him, twirling his hair; taunting Narcissa with the way she could play with him. And then, in rapid succession, multiple instances of his son on the floor being tortured by Bellatrix.  
_“He is not safe here any longer; the manor cannot protect him," _ Narcissa thought over the collage of memory in his head.

The angry pulsing within the walls seemed to match the cadence of her words.  
_“But the Dark Lord’s mission is what we stand for! Surely the manor will protect us!”_ he thought._ “Purity will always conquer!”  
__“This is not purity, Lucius.”_

He watched in horror as more images filtered across his mind. The long-forgotten dungeons below had been reopened. The barrels of wine stored there had been consumed by the interloping Death Eaters; the cells filled with prisoners of the war. He swallowed hard, realizing the red puddles on the floors were not wine, but the blood of mudbloods and muggles, and to his shock, the blood of magical comrades, too.

The manor pulsed again.

And then his wife was before him. Her hair was more white than black, her skin starkly pale. Her vibrant eyes had paled from their rich blue and she had lost weight. She was not the same. But she was still beautiful. 

“Welcome home, Lucius,” she said. Her voice had changed, too. It was softer now. Calming.

He fell to his knees before her and wrapped her in his arms tightly against himself. She smelled familiar.   
“What has happened to you?” he murmured. “How hard have you been fighting her?”  
_“I will not blindly follow her orders, Lucius. Just as we protected our son while he was in my womb, we will protect him again.”_

His own memories pushed to the forefront of his mind. The joy of discovering his wife was newly pregnant with his heir had been smothered by the realization that Bellatrix had plans for their child; that her curse would likely hold him, too. They had protected their babe, but the consequences had been severe. 

Thank Merlin, they had waited to perform their spell until Narcissa was almost due, for she hemorrhaged and delivered immediately following the incantation. Lucius had watched in awe as his newborn son changed before him. Draco’s pale blonde hair and pink skin turned white before his eyes. And when he looked to his wife, he was shocked to see that half her hair had turned white as well. It was later that he would realize that his own pale blonde hair had also changed. And much later when they would learn that her womb had been destroyed. 

They kept the boy hidden from Bellatrix and used charms to hide their own physical changes, slowly revealing them bit by bit instead. And with the first Wizarding war waging, Bellatrix was easily distracted by her own ambitions. Another effect from the spell damage was revealed later when Bellatrix compelled them to allow her to be their surrogate; he was no longer able to father a child. His only regret was not discovering this until after she had compelled him to try. 

“Hush your thoughts, my love. It is time to bathe and prepare to face the Dark Lord,” Narcissa said. 

She took his hands from around her waist and guided him up. He looked into her eyes, and though changed, he would recognize the life within anywhere. His resentment at their wedding when he discovered the curse she exposed him to had quickly faded when he realized the strength and protection she would offer him. He would walk hell fires for her. For their son.  
Removing the ring from his pocket, he took her hand and placed it on her finger. Their rings glowed and the house hummed.

_“Now that I am home,”_ he sent to her, _“won’t it be safer for him?”  
_The house pulsed and Narcissa sadly shook her head. “I have missed you husband. Let me be your wife before we discuss anything more.”

He looked at her again, passed the changes in her appearance, and realized that she was wearing a silk bath robe. Her nipples were visible through the fabric and his desire flared. He remembered, then, his own appearance. He had not bathed since his incarceration; his only relief from filth had been the _Scourgifies_ that the ministry officials had cast when performing their monthly inspections. The rags that covered his body had been threadbare when he received them. And an unkempt beard obscured his face. 

But Narcissa was looking into his eyes and would not allow him to feel shame at his current state.   
“Let me bathe you,” she murmured. “Let me tend to your wounds and heal your hurt.”

She took his hand and led him to the waiting bath. He could smell the oils and potions waiting within and his body trembled in anticipation. He allowed her to undress him, her fingers slowly ripping the soiled garments away. There was no pity in her expression and he felt relief at both her appreciation and her anger instead. 

The water was perfectly warm and his limbs felt immediate relief as the healing magic did its work. He leaned his head back and relaxed to the soothing pressure of Narcissa’s fingers washing his hair. With an expert hand, she trimmed and shaved his beard, and magicked away the waste. His body felt clean and whole again.

And then he watched in wonder as his changed, but beautiful, wife undressed. She joined him in the water, facing him, and he pulled her forward. His mouth met hers in hard appreciation, his tongue tasting hers and savoring the movements of their kiss. His hands found her breasts and he teased her nipples with his thumbs. But his need was great; he had been without her for too long. He quickly looked to her face and found her watching him, pleasure on her face. 

Narcissa took matters into her own hands and guided Lucius inside her as she straddled him, riding him hard and fast as the water splashed around them. Her arms around his neck, her mouth on his. 

She pushed the remaining darkness from Azkaban away, flooding his mind with her love and absorbing his fear. They shared images with each other. Moments they each treasured. Their laughter. Their adventures. Their family of three. They shared their hopes for the future. 

_“No matter my compulsions, I am devoted only to you,”_ he thought to her.  
And as they shattered together and she moaned her love to him, he knew that he would give her whatever she wanted, even if it meant pushing his son to the other side.

* * *

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off the Hogwarts trunk in the corner of Ginny’s bedroom. Ginny’s trunk, one of the few school possessions that had never belonged to her brothers, sat partially open with the sleeve of a school robe peaking out. 

Two vivid reminders of part of what Hermione was giving up. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever return to the castle that changed her life. Any day now, she and Harry and Ron would start their search for the remaining horcruxes, never boarding the Hogwarts Express to begin their seventh, and final, year. 

A shiver went down her spine as she recalled the steps she had made to protect her family while she was away. She and Professor McGonagall agreed that it was best for Hermione to complete the _Obliviate_ spell on her parents. McGonagall had explained that there was much power behind familial magic and, because they were related by blood, the spell would likely be less susceptible to deterioration or transformation. And, after all, Hermione had already proven herself capable of the skill required. Even still, as her parents made their way to Australia under their assumed names, a squib was there waiting and prepared to monitor the couple for any signs of trouble.

“Are you coming? Fleur is ready for her dress.” Ginny asked from the doorway. “She and Bill are anxious for the wedding to be over so they can start their honeymoon,” she added with a grin.

The ceremony was beautiful. Hermione watched in wonder as the couple pricked their thumbs with an antique sewing needle and placed the bleeding digits to each other’s lips. Hermione knew that this was a Veela tradition, but found herself warmed by its simple beauty. Bill and Fleur exchanged their vows and ribbons of magic encircled them before rising into the sky and flaring out like fireworks.

As she made her way to the reception, she once again considered how different her life was because she was a witch. How long, though, would she have been oblivious of the magical world with the threat of Voldemort looming? Uninvited, thoughts of Iris jumped to the forefront of her mind and strengthened her resolve to take the Death Eaters down. _Except Draco. _The thought wasn’t even a surprise. He’d saved her multiple times. Hermione would just like to know why, though.

Harry was at a table by himself. Hermione and a select few were the only ones who knew it was him, however. Polyjuice potion using the hair from a muggle in the neighboring village had him sporting red hair and a bulkier frame, and going by the name Barny. It was a simple, but effective, disguise and had anyone out of the loop believing he was an unknown Weasley relative.

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” he offered as she sat at the table beside him.  
“It’s the dress,” she said.  
Harry chuckled and shook his head. Hermione knew that he was antsy to be started on their journey. She had spent a great deal of time sorting through books, potions and basic supplies, but she wasn’t sure she would really ever feel prepared for this endeavor into an unpredictable situation. 

“Ginny kissed me,” he said.  
Hermione just nodded her head. It seemed like something Ginny would do.  
“Did you change your mind, then?” she asked.  
“If anything, it confirmed it was time to end things.”  
“How so?”  
Harry frowned and started twirling the counterfeit locket that was suddenly in his hands. “It was good, the feeling of her lips on mine. Even her hands on me was nice in that it felt familiar. It was all incredibly comforting. But it wasn’t exciting.”

Hermione watched as he, in frustration, pushed the locket back in his pocket before looking back at her. “Am I bad person? Before, when we were together, she was all that I could think about. I would go all day looking forward to her floral scent that reminded me of the Burrow. But now, it all seems off.”  
“Things are rather chaotic right now, Harry. It’s understandable that you’re in a different mental place. Maybe, after all of this is over, you and she can try again,” Hermione said.  
“But that’s just it, Hermione. I don’t think I want to.” Harry quickly looked around and then leaned in closer to her. “She wanted to say goodbye; ‘Proper’ she said. One last shag before I go off and fight Voldemort. And I couldn’t do it. Not just because we’re here at the Burrow, although, I said I didn’t want to disrespect her parents like that. And not even because I was trying to do the right thing and not take advantage of the situation… I just didn’t want to shag her again.”  
“You aren’t a bad person, Harry. It would have been bad to have sex if you didn’t really want to. You were respecting yourself, and her too.”

“We need to leave soon, probably tomorrow,” Harry said after a brief silence.  
“I know. Ron does, too. I think he’s excited to get started.”  
“How about you?”  
Hermione tensed and then sighed. “Professor Dumbledore was never very forthcoming with information. I don’t even know how or where we should begin. I get the sense, you don’t either.”

The locket was rolling along his fingers again. “No. I keep coming back to the initials on this locket, but without knowing who they belong to, it isn’t even a start. I know that the horcruxes are likely something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s. Then there’s Slytherin’s locket, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup and Voldemort’s snake. The snake is the only thing I know how to find.”

“Could it be the sword?” Ron asked as he suddenly joined them at the table, causing his two friends to jump. “Gryffindor’s item?” he clarified. “Dumbledore left that to you in his will, so maybe it was another horcrux?” Ron whispered the last word, looking around to make sure no one was listening. 

Hermione subtly lifted her wand and cast a _muffliato_ before they continued their conversation.   
“I can’t be sure,” said Harry. “That makes sense, but Dumbledore told me that it only presents itself to true Gryffindors…”  
“Yeah,” said Ron. “It was probably just another impossible clue, like my Deluminator and Hermione’s children’s book.”  
“His secrets are very difficult to work out,” said Hermione.  
Ron looked at her critically. “You aren’t just talking about horcruxes, are you?”  
“If Snape hadn’t killed Dumbledore, what would have happened to Malfoy? Harry, you said that Malfoy was ordered to kill him in order to save his family. What if Professor Snape was trying to protect Draco and his family?”  
“You’re the one who pointed out that Snape was the Half Blood Prince, Hermione,” said Harry. “That his mother was Eileen Prince, a witch who married a muggle named Snape.”  
“Yes, I know I did –”  
“Well, aren’t you the one who pointed out how evil that book was? That it was someone particularly dark who created those spells?”  
“Yes, but I’ve already stated that he never denied being a Death Eater in the first war.”  
“Then why didn’t he tell anyone what I’d done? That I was using his book? Was it because he didn’t want to be associated with it? He didn’t want Dumbledore to know what he was capable of?” asked Harry.  
“I’ll agree they aren’t trustworthy,” said Hermione. “Of course, we'd be foolish to trust either Snape or Malfoy without question. But I do wonder if that automatically means they aren’t on our side? I think it could be possible that, perhaps, they want to be.”

“The three of you are looking rather melancholy over here,” said Bill Weasley, his voice interrupting the conversation. “Didn’t anyone tell you that this was a party?”

“We’re just talking about secrets and trust,” said Ron after a beat.   
Bill reached up and touched one of the scars on his face. “You three do know that I’m not an idiot, right?” A small smirk appeared on his face as the others nodded quickly. “I know you’re plotting to leave and I know secrets are important right now. As for who you can trust, I’d say actions speak louder than words. But be sure that you are understanding the actions you see. War is the ultimate game of chess and many successes have to be plotted out several moves ahead.”

Harry took his last swig of Polyjuice potion while Ron looked at his brother. Seeming done with the topic, Bill turned to Hermione. “I actually came for you,” he said to her. “There was a small altercation between Xenophilius Lovegood and Viktor Krum. I was hoping you could help distract the latter?”

“I’ll go!” said Ron, interrupting whatever response Hermione may have had, and he quickly stood.

The two brothers left together, Bill sending a small salute as they went. Ginny, who had been approaching, nodded to Bill as he and Ron left, and stopped at their table. “How did I know I’d find you two together,” she said.   
“Because you know who I really am?” asked Harry.  
Hermione was pleased to note, that although there was a bit of awkwardness, there was no bite in either of their tones.  
Ginny sat down in Ron’s vacated seat and quickly removed her shoes. “I don’t understand how any women can wear these blasted things. No amount of charms will ever make them more comfortable than my trainers.”  
“Were you dancing?” asked Hermione.  
“Yes, with Neville. He’s such a good dancer, but I was tired. Luna was trying to be nice and offered to take my place, but I don’t think he realized just how awful she is.”  
“I enjoy dancing with Luna,” said Harry.  
“You enjoy dancing?” Ginny asked, disbelief in her voice. “It must be because she’s like a little sister you never had, huh? You find it charming to see her happy?”  
“She is not like a sister!” Harry exclaimed, looking mortified. “Hermione is my sister.”

Hermione felt pleasure at Harry’s words and she smiled warmly at him and squeezed his hand.   
“She is a very fun dancer, actually,” Hermione agreed. “The phrase ‘dances to the beat of her own drum,’ certainly applies, but I like the beat she dances to,” she added with a laugh. She and Harry smiled fondly at each other and Hermione couldn’t help but recall the evening of Slughorn’s party.

“Harry,” she started. “Malfoy saved me that night, too.”  
His smile gone, he stared at her. “What?”  
“I almost fell over the banister and he pulled me back.”  
“Why was he even with you?” he asked, seeming to know exactly what evening she was talking about.  
“Luna told me to go after – you, I assumed. And I couldn’t find you, but then I heard him coming. We argued, of course. And he got in my face, but when I almost fell he pulled me back to safety.”  
“So, just another case of him making a mess of things and then trying to save face?”  
“None of the portraits were there. He could have let me fall.”

Suddenly, a loud clang startled the trio. Ron had returned and had hit the table leg when pulling out a chair. “Luna’s father’s an idiot. He’s wearing a necklace with what he called deadly hash browns or something, but Krum’s insisting that it’s the mark of Grindelwald.”  
“I hadn’t realized Viktor was coming,” said Hermione.  
“Yeah, well, he asked me to tell you he was looking forward to seeing you, but he’ll just have to wait for your next letter,” said Ron, his tone mocking. “I didn’t realize you two were pen pals.”  
“We’ve kept in touch. We got to know each other rather well, Ron. I would keep in touch with any friend I admired.”  
“Then why’re you surprised he’s here? He was pretty unhappy to leave, but didn’t want to stay if Xenophilius was, so he’s gone. Too bad his post won’t make it to you where we’re going.”

“Hello,” said Luna, her greeting interrupting Ron’s rant. “Red is a good color on you, Harry,” she said as she and Neville sat in the last remaining seats at the table.  
“Oi! Ginny, we weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” hissed Ron.  
“I didn’t!”  
“I thought she was imagining things when she said it was you, Harry,” said Neville.  
“His expressions are truly his own,” Luna said.  
“Well, call him Barny,” said Ron. “He’s a cousin who came in for the wedding. And what does your dad have against potatoes?”  
Luna seemed to seriously consider. “Why do you ask?”  
“The necklace he’s wearing.”  
“You must mean the Deathly Hallows. He loves potatoes, but can’t eat them as they’re a breeding ground for aquavirius maggots.”

Hermione and Harry were distracted from the conversation, however, by the small hand of a familiar House Elf.  
“Dobby?” said Harry. “What are you doing here?”  
“Shh,” hissed the elf, like Luna, seeming to see through Harry's disguise. “It’s a secret.”

Dobby hurriedly looked around, and then right at Hermione. “Dobby is a free Elf, but keeps in touch with elf friends. Master Draco said he's sorries to many of them, so when he called for Dobby, I went to him.”  
“What?!?” exclaimed Harry.  
“This is a wonderful example of the Law of the Returning Tides,” said Luna. She and Ron had stopped their conversation and were listening to Dobby. “Draco expelled good energy, and it returned to him through Dobby,” she continued.

Dobby looked towards Ginny and Neville, but they were lost in their own conversation and oblivious to the others. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and placed a folded piece of parchment in her palm.

She looked hesitantly at Harry before opening the message.

_They are taking the ministry today. Run.  
  
_

“He suspected you would be with Harry Potter. Dobby was to give this to him, or even his Weasley, if you couldn't be found.”  
“Does this mean they’re already coming for us?” asked Harry.  
Dobby shook his head, not having an answer to give, before his eyes grew even larger than normal and the group turned to see what he was looking at.

A patronus of a lynx was in the middle of the dance floor. Its mouth was opened wide and, in the voice of Kingsley Shackelbolt, it exclaimed that the ministry had fallen.   
Hermione could feel the wards around the Burrow crumble and she quickly checked to see that the beaded bag she had prepared was with her. The sounds of disapparating witches and wizards mingled with the startled screams. And then, loud and menacing, a sound she couldn’t quite place filled the tent. Like a bow breaking in a storm, perhaps. And she watched as glimmering branches slithered across the flaps of the tent and slammed down on the lynx, snuffing out its magic.

Without a second thought, Hermione reached out and grabbed both Harry and Ron and, with Destination, Determination and Deliberation on her mind, she spun them away from the terrifying magic rooting into the Burrow.


	20. Matters of Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: descriptions of sexual situations and topics

“We suspected, of course, that you’d done it. But I can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner! We’re your friends, and you didn’t tell us about this - about any of the nightmare you are living!”

Draco tried not to react to Pansy’s tantrum as he looked out the window of the train and listened to the buzzing noise of the_ muffliato_ he’d cast as soon as they were in the cabin. He knew that Theo was right and it was past time bringing Pansy and Daphne into the loop, but he really could do without her nasal soliloquy. She wasn’t speaking for him to hear and he knew it. She just couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself.

He could still feel the adrenaline in his system. It had been less than an hour ago that Luna had been abducted off the train as it made its way to Hogwarts, and he’d let it happen. Just like she’d told him to do. It was still unnerving that she had known this would happen.

“When did you two become friendly, anyway?” asked Pansy. Pansy and Daphne had been alarmed at his reaction to Luna's being taken by Death Eaters. They had no idea how close he had become with the girl this year. “Are you shagging her?” _Not that close, Merlin._

Draco turned from the window and looked at Theo who was lounging with his feet propped up on the opposite bench. With a shake of his head, Theo sighed and sat up straight.

“Luna is both Draco and my friend, and to be fair, I’ve been friends with her longer,” said Theo, his tone harsh. “For about a year; ever since Slughorn’s party last Christmas. Once you get past her unconventional demeanor, she’s hard not to like.”  
“But why? She’s one of Potter’s lackies,” said Pansy.  
“She has never once looked at me with malice, Pans. She has always given me the opportunity to show her who I am, not what I’m expected to be. It was damn refreshing and the least I could do was return the favor to her. She’s a pretty remarkable person.” 

“I don’t understand,” cut in Daphne, “why you’d let her go quietly with the Death Eaters. You must know they’ll take her to Azkaban or somewhere else just as frightening.”

Draco noticed the hint of worry in Daphne’s voice and recalled that she had been with the happy group dancing at Slughorn’s party. He looked over at her to find she was looking at him.  
“You’re one of them,” she said to him. “Why didn’t you warn her?”

“This mark doesn’t make me one of them!” Draco shouted, afraid his words were false hope. “It was a mistake I was forced into because of one stupid decision.” He pushed aside the memory of his aunt cackling in glee when he’d agreed he had a way of getting to Potter.  
“We need more information, Draco,” said Daphne. “Showing us that awful mark on your arm and telling us we have to trust you… you kept this from us for too long. You need to tell us everything.”  
Pansy was nodding furiously beside her friend, her expression severe.

Draco rested his head on the cold glass of the train window. The snow was swirling outside and he couldn’t help but ponder as to how quickly the train had resumed its course after Luna was abducted. As if it was an everyday occurrence for a young woman to be taken by masked men. Perhaps, because it was happening more frequently, just not with witches of good breeding. It wasn’t so unusual for mudbloods and undesirables to be snatched away since the ministry had fallen to Lord Voldemort. Luna’s father had certainly made himself an undesirable with his zealous articles against the Dark Lord’s regime. 

“Draco?” Daphne whispered softly. “Tell us what’s going on.”  
He closed his eyes tightly. “Before I tell you,” he said, “you must swear to me, all of you, that even if you despise me after this, you won’t betray my secrets. That you will uphold Honour over Instinct and use your cunning only to protect our oath of secrecy.”

Pansy sucked in air. Draco was not surprised. _Honour over Instinct_ was a weighted pact known only to the oldest and most secretive Pureblood families. Though the penalty, unlike the unbreakable vow, was not death, if one broke the pledge their magic would be weakened. The effects could be both vast and permanent, depending on the degree of the betrayal and the talent of the wizard who oversaw the oath. It had fallen out of practice because of its unpredictability and the surety behind the Unbreakable Vow, but Draco had no desire to be involved with any more death than he had to be.

Draco turned back to the group and held his right hand out in front of himself, his palm facing the ground. Without hesitation, Theo grasped Draco’s wrist and laid his right palm on top of his extended hand. Both Daphne and Pansy quickly followed suit. Pansy, having been the last to lay her hand down, then placed her left hand beneath Draco’s extended right hand so that their palms touched. Daphne and Theo followed suit, with Draco completing the joining. 

The four Slytherins stepped forward so their shoulders were touching. Draco took a steadying breath and recalled the words his mother had taught him. 

“We four swear our mouths and eyes and ears against anything revealed in this meeting of honour; that we may be mute, blind and deaf before betraying the secrecy here. We swear to bind our bodies and our minds from betraying the confidences discovered in this meeting of honour. We pledge, on our magical essence, our honour over our instinct.”

As one, the four repeated the last sentence together and raised their clasped hands to chest level. The air of the cabin shifted slightly, each individual feeling the pact touch their magic. It was rumored that if a witch or wizard was knowingly deceitful in their promise, the enchantment of the pact would immediately strip them of their magic, as well as their faculties. It was a fate many wizards feared more than death.

With a nod, Draco pulled his hands away and returned to his seat. Without looking at his comrades, he began. “It was my plan to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. I was hoping that offering the Dark Lord a way to Potter, he would break my father out of prison and the Malfoy name would mean something among the Death Eaters again. My aunt Bellatrix warned me that the Dark Lord would expect me to become a Death Eater, and she was right. I was ready for that. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but I was prepared to take on the mark. I convinced myself it would add to my family’s prominence if I were to be the youngest Death Eater. What I hadn’t prepared myself for, was that my sacrifice wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.”

Draco looked at the group. Pansy was staring at her hands, but at his silence she turned to him.   
“He ordered me to kill Professor Dumbledore,” he choked out. “He threatened to murder my mother after he made her watch him torture and skin me alive.”   
“Draco –“ Daphne started, but he was lost in his memories and didn’t hear her.  
“Last year was awful. I was afraid to bring any of you into it. Afraid he would find out and make you do horrible things, too. And afraid if I asked for help, the Dark Lord would view it as failure and kill my mother anyway. But one of the ghosts helped me.”  
He paused, momentarily embarrassed, but he pushed the feeling aside. “Moaning Myrtle became my friend.”  
Daphne gasped.  
“But,” said Pansy, “she was a mudblood.”  
“She and,” fear gripped him and he couldn’t finish. He feared that telling Pansy the next part would doom her to break the pact they had just made. Something in his expression must have given that away.  
“I value our friendships more than my dislike for mudbloods, Draco. Tell me what’s been happening. Tell all of us everything.”

“They’ve guessed more than you could imagine,” said Theo. “Daphne was there at Slughorn’s party. She saw your expression change when you saw her.”  
“Who?” asked Pansy “Luna? Or... I still don’t understand how you two have anything to do with each other.”

Draco groaned. “Merlin. To make a very long story short, the Dark Lord is the worst thing to have ever happened to the Wizarding World. And mudbloods probably didn’t steal their magic; some might even be more powerful than purebloods. And as much I fucking hate Potter, I don’t want him, or anyone else, to die because of the Dark Lord. And I saved Granger. I went against my aunt Bellatrix, and I warned Granger to run away. And when the stupid bint found herself about to be eaten by Greyback, I saved her again. And one of the Weasley’s, too.”

Feeling consumed by nervous energy, Draco stood and began to pace the cabin. “Professor Snape killed Dumbledore for me – he can be trusted, to a degree. He’s the Dark Lord’s man, he has to be, but he is someone you can turn to if you need out.”   
He stopped his pacing and looked at his three friends. “But my aunt Bellatrix, the Carrows, any of the Death Eaters aside from Snape, and possibly my father, are dangerous! Even if they think you are on their side, they will see you as disposable.”  
“You told us before to never go to Snape,” said Pansy, “but now we should?”  
“If you let the Death Eaters in to get Potter,” asked Daphne, veering the topic in another direction, “why did they leave him behind?”

Draco paused. He hadn’t even explained this to Theo. How could he tell them about Snape without breaking the oath he’d made to his godfather after the man had revealed his past? He honestly didn’t think their pact was a safe enough bet to tell them. But he wouldn’t lie.  
“I’m oath bound regarding other secrets,” he said. “The simplest answer is that Bellatrix was too greedy to be in control and it prevented everyone from really knowing what was happening that night. The Carrows even thought we were going to stay in the castle permanently and torture mudbloods.”

“You keep saying the word. Do you hate them, still? Mudbloods?”  
He considered Pansy’s question before answering. “I don’t think I want to anymore. But if I see one, or someone I suspect to be one, I instinctively think of them as a _mudblood_. In my mind, they are automatically less than me. Granger, somehow, I don’t see her like that anymore.”  
Pansy and Daphne looked at each, smirks on their faces.   
“What?” he asked, suspiciously.

“You don’t expect me to like them, do you?” asked Pansy, ignoring his inquiry. “Because Granger’s the worst.”  
“Is she the worst because she’s a muggleborn, or because of her personality?” asked Daphne. “Because I thought I hated her until I got to know her when she was tutoring Astoria. She’s just awkward. I don’t think she really ever had friends, aside from Potter and his Weasleys.”  
“I hate her hair,” said Pansy. “And that she doesn’t make an effort on her appearance, a basic sign of respect to the culture she has invaded. And her shoes are awful. And who spends that much time on schoolwork?”  
“So, you’re jealous?” asked Theo, ignoring the sharp look Daphne gave him. “Because she isn’t expected to try to act like a witch should?”  
Pansy’s irritated look shifted at his second question. “Maybe. I hate that mudbloods can just come here and we have to bend over backwards to make them feel comfortable, but they don’t even try to acclimate to our way of life.”  
“We don’t, though,” said Daphne. “They’re so clueless about our culture and we just laugh at them.”

“Isn’t that catering to them?” Pansy countered. “They shouldn’t even be allowed into our world until they fit in. We don’t go into their world. They should pick one world and stick to it. They shouldn’t get to have it all.”  
“Granger’s different outside the classroom – and this is so off topic,” said Theo. “We’re almost to Hogwarts. The meeting of honour will end soon.”  
“These are good issues to address now, then,” hissed Pansy. “Do we hate mudbloods or are we going to try to help them? Because if we don’t hate them, we have to do something. Draco has just told us he hates being a Death Eater and not to trust them. So, what are we? Death Eater sympathizers? Potter groupies? Granger loyalists? I want to know.”

“I warned Potter that the ministry was going to fall. I told him to run,” said Draco. “And I apologized to Granger.”  
“Well, shit,” said Pansy.   
Daphne nodded her head. “Looks like we’re Potter groupies. Will you make us flashy buttons, Draco?”  
“Why?” asked Theo. “Why did you do it? If your aunt discovered what you did? I see how she torments you and your mother. Why is that? And your father is completely broken since the Dark Lord took his wand from him.”

Draco shuddered. That was the same morning that the Dark Lord had his snake eat Professor Burbage. Draco couldn’t help but imagine it was Granger. Or even Potter or the Weasel. The joy of his father’s return the night before was destroyed with a single order. Draco’s actions had been for nothing. His father would not be the Dark Lord’s second in command. Why would he be, when there were the likes of Bellatrix?  
“My aunt is insane,” he said. His tongue locked when he tried to say more. He was unable to tell them about the curse, apparently.   
“Why did you help Potter? Is it really because you don’t want him to die? Why is it up to you to save him?” Theo asked.

The train was starting to slow. They were almost to Hogsmeade. The meeting was almost over and Draco had so much more to say.   
“Listen to me, all of you,” he began. “Luna knew she was going to be taken. She has a knack for knowing how things are going to play out. She didn’t know when or how, but she suspected they would come for her. She warned me to let them. She reminded me that it is incredibly important to keep up appearances. She told me, that like Myrtle, the castle ghosts can be helpful to those who ask for it.”

Frustrated, Draco pulled his hands through his hair. “I realize that this is rushed, but I need to tell you now. We can expand on it later, if I get it out now it is protected by the oath.”  
The other three nodded their heads.

“I am going to do whatever it takes to help Granger and Potter succeed, because if they do then my family is free of the Dark Lord. We need to try to befriend some of the other houses, most notably Gryffindor. Luna suggested Neville Longbottom. Luna… Luna is special. If the Dark Lord realizes that about her, she’s fucked. So, don’t give anything away about her. She can just be that odd girl.”

“How are you friends with her? I’m confused,” said Pansy.  
Draco looked out the window and hurried to grab his robes. “She found me in the bathroom talking with Myrtle and she comforted me. I am a fucking mess, and she didn’t mock me or run away. And she’d tried to help me last year, I just hadn’t realized what she’d done until it was too late.”  
“That’s good enough for me,” said Daphne.

“The thing I need you all to trust me on,” he said as the train came to a stop “is that Greg and Vincent are full on Death Eater disciples. We can’t save them. Blaise is an unknown. And – “ he hesitated, looking at Daphne. But she was staring hard at him.  
“She’s a Slytherin, Draco. She is absolutely loyal,” Daphne said.  
“But to whom?” he asked  
“Who are we talking about?” asked Pansy.   
Theo frowned. “Your crush,” he said.   
“Oh.”

The four stood quietly, the noises of the other students getting off the train the only sound.  
“Your Aunt was recruiting before break,” said Pansy. “Astoria was one she was interested in. Vincent and Greg, too. I know she was making her way through all the houses, and rumor has it she recruited a Gryffindor.”  
“How can we befriend other houses if we don’t know who her recruits are?” asked Theo.  
“And how will other houses ever trust us when I let the Death Eaters in?” said Draco. “We have to figure it out. Hogwarts is only getting worse under the Carrows. Snape let’s them get away with too much; he has to.”  
“You’ve been helping the younger ones, though,” said Pansy.  
Draco looked sharply at her. “Pardon?”  
“You’ve been sneaking them past the Carrows and shooting your curses to the floor at their feet.”  
“Does everyone know?” he asked, fear gripping him. He was confident his aunt didn’t or she would have tortured him over break. So, she didn’t know, yet.  
“I don’t know. I only know because I overheard two second years talking about it.”

The air in the cabin suddenly shifted. The pact had ended, but they hadn’t departed the room. Turning quickly, Draco eyed the door and watched as it slowly opened. The first thing he saw was a tall, pointed hat. A familiar witch stood before them, her dark robes synched at her waist and her long, dark hair pulled into a braid. 

“Patil,” he greeted, struggling to remember which sister she was. He was fairly sure she was the one he’d shagged, but he still struggled to tell the two apart. A quick look at her chest had him confident she was the one he’d shagged; her tits were smaller than the Gryffindor’s.   
“You all do realize that the train has stopped. Was there a reason you were not exiting the train?” she asked, her tone bored. He was caught by her unnatural red lips from whatever charm she’d used. Her teeth were practically glowing from the contrast.  
“How is it any of your business?” snapped Pansy.

“Bellatrix Lestrange has taken on the newly restored position of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. As she will not be residing at the school, she has reformed the Inquisitorial Squad to observe and report back to her. I, and my sister Parvati, are assistants to the High Inquisitor.” Padma motioned to the ribbon on her pointed hat. It was dark green, almost black, and was attached with two silver hat pins. The pinheads were in the shape of a skull and a snake. “Draco,” she continued, “your aunt wanted to be sure you were aware of your job duties.”

She stepped forward and handed him a piece of parchment. He looked at the writing on the outside and, for a brief moment, he had been sure he’d seen Granger’s initials in his handwriting. But when his eyes had cleared, he saw only his name in his aunt’s pen. He nodded his thanks, but she grabbed his chin before he could turn.

Quietly, so only he could hear, she whispered to him. “Your aunt has assured me that you will have time for me now. As members of the inquisitorial squad, we have access to the Prefects Bath. Shall we meet there tonight and get reacquainted?”  
“As my aunt was not able to address my duties with me while I was on break, I think it prudent I review these tonight. Perhaps another time?”

He quickly followed the other Slytherins as they made their way off the train. However, as soon as he was on solid ground, he felt an arm loop with his. Padma was keeping pace with him, a haughty smile on her blood red lips. “We both know, Draco, that you aren’t in a place to act so high and mighty with me. It appears, actually, that I am in a higher standing than you in this new world the Dark Lord is building. Review your orders from High Inquisitor Lestrange. Then meet me tonight and be prepared to make me very happy. I feel I am owed a great deal after your poor treatment of me. Several apologies tonight will do as an excellent start to my forgiving you.”

She was gone before he could reply, seeming to float away quickly, her robes barely moving as she made her way to her sister and a waiting carriage. Parvati wore a matching hat and paid no attention to Draco or the Slytherins at his side.

“Well, determining her recruits just got a whole lot easier,” said Theo as Draco joined them on their own carriage.  
“And my life a whole lot more difficult.”  
“Are you really complaining about sex?” asked Pansy. “As I recall, it was your favorite stress reliever.”  
“That was before a certain bookworm caught his attention,” whispered Daphne.

Draco was too depressed to even comment. He buried his face in his hands. “I wasn’t concerned about satisfying her before. I promised her I’d take care of her wants the next time and then I avoided her like the plague. What she wants me to do to her won’t relieve my stress, just hers.”  
“A bit of aussie kissing?” asked Theo. “I don’t mind it myself,” he said while looking directly at Pansy.   
“I heard she has other tastes,” said Pansy. “Buggery, being her favorite," she added, smirking at Theo as if she were mocking him.

“Are you going, then? Sounds like she has your aunt in her corner,” said Theo, turning back to Draco.  
“She can take care of herself. I’m not interested in what she’s offering.”  
“You mean what she’s demanding?” Daphne replied. 

Draco sighed and wondered how difficult it would be to make camp in the Room of Hidden Things. 

* * *

“Why did we even follow the advice of a ghost?” Ginny hissed quietly as she and Neville hurried through the aisles in the library after curfew. The Grey Lady had told them that an ally would be found in the library if they were willing to look. They were so desperate for allies, they didn’t hesitate to go directly there.   
“She’s friends with Luna. And Luna was adamant that the ghosts would help us.”  
“Do you think she’s okay?”

Neville stopped suddenly, causing Ginny to bump into him. He turned around to face her and Ginny felt her heart sink at the look on his face.   
“I always tried to hurry her, you know? She’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had but if some of her ideas or way of doing things made me uncomfortable, I’d move us on to the next thing. And that was wrong of me. She knew she wasn’t going to be here much longer. That’s why she told me to trust the ghosts and to give every house a chance. And she promised me we’d see each other again. So, I’m gonna go with that. She has to be okay because she’s never been wrong.”  
“Is that why you two never went past holding hands? Because she was – too odd for you?” Ginny asked.

“She’s not odd, she’s just so different from me. She put a stop to it. Said something about how our lines were better unattached. Whatever that means.”

The two started back towards their customary section of tables and Ginny bit her lip recalling the conversation in the hospital wing after Bill was attacked. There really was more to Luna and her keen perception of things. 

“Listen, I may have done something you won’t be happy about,” said Neville. They had stopped at the table Hermione had always used and Ginny pushed aside the worry that was always there for her friends and brother.  
“Besides rushing us on a fool’s errand on the word of a ghost?” Ginny asked.  
“I met with Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass.”

Neville was right; she wasn’t happy about what he’d done. “Just because Luna said we should give all the houses a chance doesn’t mean we should start with some of the worst of the Slytherins.”  
“Theo is Luna’s friend.”

Ginny refused to acknowledge the truth of what Neville had said. Instead she stared at him, imagining that she was crushing his head with her hands.  
“He was better at not rushing things. It made me jealous. He would just smile at her and call her charming. Anyway, he and Daphne wanted to see about making a truce. They said that they would never be friends with Gryffindors, but were willing to work together on a common goal.”  
“And what’s that goal?”  
“Not becoming slaves.”

Ginny felt uneasy at the words. “That’s a rather pithy way of explaining things, isn’t it?”  
“Yes, it seemed uncomfortably truthful,” Neville said. “Theo told me something pretty scary, too.”  
Ginny waited for him to continue. “Apparently, he was staying at Malfoy Manor. He said that there were strange things going on there and that he knew for sure the Malfoys didn’t like their house being headquarters to the going-ons of the Death Eaters.”  
Ginny snorted.  
“I know, who would?” Neville said. “But, Bellatrix Lestrange was staying there too. She tortured Theo and Draco all the time. And she kept trying to make Theo become a Death Eater.”  
“I think we could have figured all of this out for ourselves, and I’m sure he knows that. Did he have any helpful information?”  
“Yes.”

Neville’s tone was off and Ginny realized it must be hard talking about the witch who had ruined his parents’ minds. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly before he continued.  
“She can do some bizarre things with magic. One thing she did was change her face.”  
“What? Transfiguration?”  
“No, he didn’t think so. He said that Draco had to tell him what happened after, but that he thought he was seeing a very blurred face of his mother.”  
“His mother’s dead.”  
“Yeah, but in that moment, he couldn’t remember. To him, it seemed like his mother was telling him that he needed to be a Death Eater and spy for you-know-who. She was wearing a dark hood that covered her head, and Rodolphus was with her. He said he got really confused and the more he wanted to look at her face the blurrier it got and he couldn’t really look at her.”  
Ginny’s mouth felt dry.  
“Maybe I’m an idiot, but I believe him,” said Neville. “I believe them both, that they want to avoid all of this, too.”  
“It happened to Ron,” said Ginny.  
“What?”  
“What Theo described to you, that happened to Ron last year at the joke shop.”

A loud bang echoed through the library, disrupting their conversation. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a familiar woman’s voice called out.

Ginny and Neville both reached for their wands, but suddenly, Ginny felt a wave of magic cover her body. Instinctively, she knew that she’d cried out, but no sound was heard. And then, a hand was on her shoulder and she felt herself being pulled backwards. Before she could right herself, a full body bind curse was on her body. She never fell, though. She realized that she had been positioned in a chair. It was incredibly comfortable and she had no recollection of ever having seen it in the library.

“I don’t think they’ll hear you now, but you must be quiet,” came the distinct voice of Draco Malfoy. “I know you can’t trust me, but if you attack me you’ll get us all caught.”  
“I won’t attack you,” she heard Neville say. She couldn’t see either of them; they must have been behind her.  
“What about her?”  
“Why won’t they hear us?” Neville whispered, ignoring Malfoy’s question.  
“This place, between these two bookcases, is hidden. I think it’s one of Ravenclaw’s additions to the castle. I can see and hear out of this space, but no one else can see or hear inside of it.”

Ginny was fuming. She tried desperately to break the binding curse and she felt herself trying to yell, but nothing changed. Her mouth wouldn’t move; her voice wouldn’t sound.

“She might attack you,” Neville said, finally answering Malfoy’s question. “At this point, she might attack us both.”  
“I don’t want her defenseless if they find us,” said Malfoy. “I don’t think they will, but they’re working with my aunt and she knows very obscure magic.”  
“I’ll put up a shield if you release her.”

Ginny felt herself smile and realized they’d already acted. She rushed up out of her seat and whirled around to face them.  
“I understand giving Theo and Daphne a chance, but this idiot?”  
“Now, now,” said Malfoy. “Theo and Daphne are consorting with you two? Whatever for?”

“We know you’re here,” came the familiar female voice again. “It’s just me, Ginny. Parvati. I’ll help you get back to the tower without getting caught!”  
Without a word, Malfoy, Ginny and Neville turned together towards Parvati’s voice, their wands ready. 

“I don’t know if you’ve kept in touch with Potter or Granger, but they might actually tell you to give me a chance,” hissed Malfoy. “I warned them to run when the ministry was about to fall.”

Neville nodded his head beside Malfoy. “Luna begged me to listen if you ever tried to talk to me. I want to hear what you have to say,” he said.  
“Yeah, I’ll listen, too,” said Ginny, suspicious Malfoy was the reason the Grey Lady had sent them here. “But let’s get out of this mess, first.”

“Have you found them?” came another voice.  
Ginny looked between the shelves and saw another woman approaching Parvati. She, too, was wearing a tall pointed hat. The light from the lanterns in the library bounced off their matching hat pins. Ginny felt her stomach drop. The skull and snake the Patil twins wore had broken her heart when she had first seen them.  
“The spell revealed two people in here, and I warded the door. I’ve only felt your entrance.”

“Vincent and Greg are on their way. Perhaps, they’ll find them when they come into the library,” said Padma.  
“Are they still upset that they're reporting to us?”  
“To me, you mean? Let’s not pretend you’re as invested in this as I am, Parvati.”  
“We are on equal footing with the High Inquisitor. Our motivations may differ, but our status does not.”  
“For now.”  
“Padma, they have our mother. They’re manipulating father and syphoning his money. I don’t care what I have to do to keep them safe and I’ll accept whatever my fate when this is over. How can you –” Parvati stopped, as if she regretted her words. “A boy is not my motivation, Padma. Only my family.”

“He isn’t just a boy! She has assured me that a betrothal is forthcoming!”  
“How long has she been deluding your mind with this?”  
“Cast the spell again,” Padma snarled. “I will not be interrogated by you.”

Ginny watched as Parvati ignored her sister. Padma, in frustration, cast the spell herself. Ginny tensed.  
“The spell only found two before,” whispered Malfoy. “I was here the whole time. I think we’ll be okay.”  
“What about the ward on the door?” asked Neville.  
“We know about it now. We can stay until morning or take it down if we can figure it out,” said Ginny.

“Too many students are disappearing,” said Padma. “And I have been unable to open the room we used for Dumbledore’s Army.”  
“Perhaps Umbridge had it shut down,” said Parvati. Even Ginny could tell Parvati didn’t believe her own words.  
“Aren’t you interested in finding them?”  
“I’m not interested in helping you find Malfoy. Because that’s all this is. You’re irritated that your betrothed can’t stand the sight of you.”  
“He loved the sight of me before he joined the cause.”  
“You had sex, Padma. He used you and from what you’ve told me, he barely pretended otherwise.”

“He told me he loves me! He told me we could be together if I spied on Harry. And then he just disappeared to muck up the mission the Dark Lord gave him and make things difficult for Bellatrix.”  
“The High Inquisitor, Padma.”  
“No, Parvati. Bellatrix. She’s told me, who is obviously far worthier in her eyes, to call her Bellatrix.”  
“Then can you convince her to let mother go?” asked Parvati quickly, but Padma turned away from her to cast the spell towards the other side of the library.

“Poor Parvati,” said Neville.  
“Interesting that it’s poor Parvati because she’s a Gryffindor, but ‘fuck you Malfoy’ because I’m a Slytherin.”

“As if you wouldn’t think the worst of us, too. Did you tell her you loved her?” asked Ginny.  
“Never. I’m sure it was that spell of my aunt’s – the one you two were discussing before the weird sisters interrupted.”  
“Is that what she did to you,” asked Ginny.  
“No,” he answered, refusing to look at her. “No, I didn’t want to be a Death Eater,” he continued, understanding what she was really asking, “but I didn’t need much convincing to try to make things easier for my family.”

“Your goons are here,” Neville interrupted. 

Ginny looked back towards the Patils. Crabbe and Goyle were lumbering towards them.   
“What kept you?” Padma asked.  
“We had our own things to do,” said Crabbe. Ginny hardly recognized his voice. He’d changed. His heavy mass was more muscle now, and his voice had become deep.   
“I sent for you ages ago.”  
“You don’t get to order us around,” Crabbe said. “We can do what we want.”

Ginny caught a proud smile on Malfoy’s face. “Looking pretty smug there, Malfoy. Do you think he’d still take orders from you?”  
His smirk disappeared. “No. I’m a failure in the circle. Even they aren’t so dumb as to associate with me any longer.”  
“Do you miss them?” asked Neville. The question seemed to surprise Malfoy.  
“I do. And I don’t. We didn’t have much in common. But it was nice to know there was always someone to listen to you. And who’d sink to their lowest if you asked them to.”  
“Asked?” said Ginny. “Or told?”

“When was the last time anyone saw any of them?” Padma questioned the two bulking young men, distracting Ginny from her own conversation.  
“Only you saw them,” said Parvati. “And I still don’t quite know how.”  
“It was Filch. He said there were students about. The Weasley girl and a boy. I assume Longbottom.”

Parvati was moving away as her sister spoke. “There’s no one here and I am not wasting any more time on this.”  
“You know those two will continue to go against the High Inquisitor,” snapped Padma.  
“Who is your master? Her or the Dark Lord?”

Padma said nothing as her sister and the two Slytherins left the Library. As the door shut behind them, she cast another _Homenum Revelio_ and turned slowly, looking for any signs of life.  
She left the library, releasing a guttural growl, when she’d found no indication of anyone else there. 

“If you’re using the Room of Hidden Things,” said Draco, “you best be sure she cannot get in.”  
“She hasn’t so far,” said Ginny, hotly.  
“But she’s intent on doing so. Umbridge found a way, and she’ll remember that.”

“Do you think there are other hiding spots?” asked Ginny. “There’s the room, and this aisle. And with so many secret passageways, it seems likely we can find other places to hide.”  
“The Room offers the best option for everyone,” said Neville. “And I think we have it safe-guarded well enough. I may ask it to repel those not welcome.”  
“Can it even do that?” asked Ginny.  
“And what if you think someone isn’t welcome, but they aren’t really a threat?” Malfoy added. “I hate to break it to you, but Theo and Daphne could be helpful to you. And Pansy, too.”  
“Pansy!” yelled Ginny. “Pansy Parkinson?”

“Who do we avoid?” asked Neville. “Aside from the Inquisitorial Squad?”  
“He’s the Inquisitorial Squad,” said Ginny. “You’ve seen him swagger around with the lot of them!”

Neville and Malfoy ignored her, however. “Blaise, Astoria, Millicent and Tracy. McLaggen”  
“What about Lavender Brown?” Neville asked. “We can’t get a good read on her since Parvati joined the squad.”  
“I don’t think she’s one of them, but I don’t really know.”  
“We need Hermione’s charm work so we can figure out who to let in,” Ginny said, absently.  
“If you decide to trust me,” said Malfoy, “I’m a fair hand at charms, too.”

Neville turned to Ginny and she knew he was asking her what they should do. The question really was, could they trust him?

* * *

Hermione felt numb. So much had happened recently, even though nothing at all had progressed. Harry’s wand was broken and they’d been down to one for what felt like years. If only Ron were here, but he wasn’t. He’d left. He’d picked a fight and practically forced Harry to demand he leave. He’d abandoned them.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “I shouldn’t have let him upset me like that. His temper wasn’t a surprise.”  
“How did you know I was thinking about him?”  
Harry nodded down at her hands and she winced to see that she was wearing Ron’s mittens. She wore them when she missed him.   
“He was looking for a reason,” she said. “He was past his breaking point.” 

They had only found one horcrux after a terrifying infiltration of the Ministry of Magic. They were always hungry and tired and afraid. And there had been no way to destroy the real horcrux locket, so they had to keep it around them all the time. Of course, Ron lost it. They all did to a degree. And now time was already creeping towards spring and she and Harry were no closer to any of the other horcruxes than they had been when they started. 

“Are you at your breaking point?” she heard Harry ask.

Hermione cringed at the worry in her friend’s voice and quickly shook her head. “You cannot get rid of me so easily.”  
“Hmmm. You mean being attacked by a snake wearing human skin is easy, huh?”  
Hermione shivered. That had been horrifying. The dark magic Voldemort was capable of was disconcerting.

They sat quietly outside the tent, both too tired to sleep. “I’ve been watching the map,” said Harry. “He hasn’t shown up on it.”  
Hermione nodded her head. Ron was probably safe at home with his mommy, eating plenty of home cooked meals and occasionally remembering to worry about her and Harry. She only felt a little shame at her hateful thoughts; she wasn’t the one who ran away.

“Ginny and Neville disappear a lot, so I was thinking they were in the Room of Requirement. They’re obviously looking out for each other, though, because they’re always together.”  
“Luna?” she asked.  
“I never see her,” he said. It was a monotone statement, betraying his fear.

Hermione hesitated, but her curiosity got the best of her. “Malfoy?”  
Harry was quiet for a while. “I know he helped you. And me. I can’t help but think he’s up to something, though. That he’s another Snape and he’ll betray us when it matters.”

His worry had merit, she knew that it did. “I told you about Andrew,” she said and Harry nodded. They had many conversations since Ronald left. He’d danced with her to cheer her up. They’d talked about Quidditch plays and the merits of muggle education in the wizarding world. They’d even stolen mead and had a drunken kiss that had them both wiping their mouths and swearing never to get so drunk as to think friends with benefits was a good plan ever again.   
“I can honestly say that I don’t think Malfoy would ever do that to me,” she said, grinning at the memories of Harry and her conversations while realizing her pain over Andrew was long gone.   
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.  
“Because he has never lied to me. He has hurt me. He has been cruel with his words and actions. But he never lied to me. If he was out to get me, he made sure I saw it coming so he could laugh all the harder at me.”

Harry adjusted his glasses. “He’s on the map, but disappears in the library a lot.”  
“What does that mean?”  
“He goes in the library, by our area and then ‘poof,’ he’s gone.”  
“How is that possible?”  
“I don’t know. But Ginny and Neville do it, too. And so do Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson.”  
“You watch the library a lot, huh?” she asked, not really blaming him, however. What else was there to do?  
“Wouldn’t you? It’s weird.”

Hermione sighed.   
“McLaggen might have turned out okay, though,” Harry said.  
Hermione looked at him, her eyebrows raised in question.  
“He and the Patil sisters are always together and seem to be serving a lot of detentions. Looks like they’re giving the Death Eaters hell.”  
“Is Neville still with the Carrows all the time?”  
“Not as much.”

Hermione sighed again and leaned into Harry’s shoulder. He gently pulled the wand from her hand and wrapped his arm around her, enveloping her in warmth. She felt anxious, her body aching to move, with the concern she had for her friends at Hogwarts. So, it was a surprise when she opened her eyes later to find that she had fallen asleep.

And that Harry had, evidently, left her alone while he chased after a silvery doe in the trees. It was a surprise that he’d randomly discovered the Sword of Gryffindor in a frozen lake and that he’d had to be rescued when he dove down into the icy waters to retrieve it. 

Rescued by one Ronald Weasley who had somehow managed to find his way back to them. 

Her surprise was nothing compared to the surprise on Harry’s and Ron’s faces when they realized how absolutely furious she was at the red-headed cretin. Ron’s only saving grace was that he’d saved Harry’s life. Using the sword to destroy the blasted horcrux helped, too. But only slightly.


	21. Rotting Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: graphic content, descriptions of violence and abuse

This was bad. This was so bad. Ron felt the tight knots of the ropes that bound him back-to-back with Harry rub against his chest and wrists. It had been the blasted taboo. Harry had said you-know-who’s name and now the three of them were captured! And Hermione was alone with Bellatrix Lestrange and only a frightened Malfoy to protect her – if he even would under the scrutiny of his family.

Earlier that evening, when the taboo had knocked down Hermione’s wards, the snatchers and Fenrir Greyback had found them and taken them to Malfoy Manor. They had made their way up a long gravel road, the building in front of them seeming to fade into the night, and Ron realized that he’d never understood just how impressive the place really was. Would he have been as uppity as Malfoy was if he’d grown up like this; in a looming mansion behind magical iron gates?

When they had finally made it to the manor, Greybeck had bellowed at the Malfoy’s door that they had caught Potter. The entirety of the group waiting to enter were too naïve of the customs of such families to truly comprehend how odd it was that it was Mrs. Malfoy who opened the door. However odd it was though, it had not escaped Ron’s attention that Mrs. Malfoy did not look like herself. She had not aged, per se, but while there were ribbons of black hair remaining around her face, her hair was almost pure white. Her eyes had changed, also, but he couldn’t pinpoint how. 

Her expression had been unreadable, but one of the snatchers, Scabior, must have assumed she doubted them. “He’s swollen, but it’s ‘im.” He’d said, nodding his head towards Harry and then he pulled Hermione forward by her hair. “And this ‘ere girl is his mudblood!”

Harry had looked horrible when presented to the Malfoys. Whatever spell Hermione had cast on him had done a mighty fine job of making it difficult to know who Harry was. Leave it to Hermione to neglect herself, though. Of course, she’d assume no one would recognize her. Ron barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Brightest witch of her age, sure, unless it had anything to do with herself. Or him.

He still had so much to tell her; to explain. This couldn’t be the end!

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that mudblood since the night we killed Dumbledore,” hummed the werewolf as he dragged Ron and Harry away from Hermione and down a corridor. “I recognized her scent right away. I’d say I’ll get a bite of her before the night’s over. Bellatrix would get a kick out of that kind of show.”

It took everything Ron had not to turn and attack the beast. It was a lost cause. For now. Harry and he had found their way through many scary situations and they would do it again; they had to. He shivered at the thought of the giant spiders they had escaped their second year and continued forward as the werewolf forced them down a flight of stairs.

The stairs were stone and slippery and Ron was frightened. One wrong step and he and Harry could easily fall to their deaths. The stench of the werewolf was unbearable, and Ron was almost relieved when the two were shoved past a heavy door into a dark cellar. The door quickly slammed shut behind them, but the noise could not drown out the drawn-out scream directly above them.

“HERMIONE!” Ron screamed at the sound, struggling against the ropes that still bound him to Harry. All his hope that Malfoy would protect her vanished. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t revealed who they were. He was letting his aunt torture Hermione; what protection could he really offer them in this situation? “HERMIONE!” he cried out again in the pitch darkness of their prison.

“Ron!” Harry said. “Be quiet, we have to think of a plan!”  
“HERMIONE!”  
“We need to find a way out of these ropes! Help me think of a way to get out!”

“Harry?” came a familiar voice in the dark. “Ron?”  
Both men turned towards the voice.  
“Luna?” asked Harry, his voice afraid.  
“Oh, no, Harry, I didn’t want them to get you. Any of you!”

Ron felt the movement of Harry trying to move towards the voice, but he was unwilling to do so himself. He wanted to stay as close to the door as possible; as close to Hermione as he could. He distantly heard Luna and Harry talking about a nail to undo their bindings, but all he could focus on was Bellatrix screaming at Hermione about the sword. 

“Ron!” Luna whispered loudly. “Please stop moving, I don’t want to hurt you. It’s too dark for me to see what I’m doing.”  
“Dumbledore’s Deluminator!” Ron said. “It’s in my pocket and it’s full of light.”

He felt Luna’s hand reach into his pocket and a moment later the orbs of light he had caught from their tent escaped from the Deluminator and filled the cellar. Ron felt his chest tighten at the sight of Luna and Mr. Ollivander. They were deathly pale and sickly looking. Dean Thomas and an angry looking goblin were also there. Before he could ask how long they’d been in these dungeons, though, Hermione screamed again, tearing his focus from the group as he ran back to the door, oblivious of his release from his binds.

“HERMIONE!”

* * *

Hermione felt her tears fall down her cheeks, into her ears and down her neck. She was exhausted and felt far too warm, laying in her own urine and excrement. “We didn’t take anything,” she whimpered. 

“I can hear your mind, you pathetic mudblood,” Bellatrix whispered in her face. “Your panic! You cannot save your Potter or blood traitor, but maybe I will allow you to save my foolish nephew. My Lord will see him as a turncoat for denying who you are. The Dark Lord will flay him alive. Perhaps, he will allow me the honor while he slaughters Potter!”

Hermione felt biting needle pricks all over her body, twisting her muscles and scrunching them up. She had lost count how many times she had been under the _Crucio_. Her eyes darted to Malfoy, hiding behind his parents with his head turned away. “How…?” Her voice was garbled and muted. Hermione licked her lips with her dry tongue and tried again. “How can I save anyone?”   
“_You must hold on and save yourself first!” _The tinny words spun in Hermione’s head and felt foreign to her.

Bellatrix cackled, her laughter bouncing off the walls until it sounded as if she was choking. She leaned down in front of Hermione, her breath rancid from her rotting teeth. “Give up.”

Hermione keened as she exhaled. She desperately wanted to close her eyes; to let go. “_Don’t give up, girl! Wrap your thoughts in the warm blanket of your mind and separate yourself from this moment.”_ Hermione’s eyes remained on Malfoy and he looked at her as if pulled by the weight of her stare. Suddenly, Hermione felt sharp digging pain in her arm. Her eyes squeezed shut and her screams filled the air, dancing on the echoes of the mad woman’s laughter. She wrenched her eyes back open and watched as Malfoy clenched his shut before he turned away again. Hermione looked down at her arm to see the flesh spread and hemorrhaging. “The sword is a copy! A fake!” she wailed, but Bellatrix kept digging with her knife. “Please! Stop!”  
“_Stay strong! Survive this and ruin Bella!”_ the unfamiliar voice echoed in her mind again.

“This is nothing as to what the Dark Lord will do to my unworthy nephew,” Bellatrix crooned. “He will pull his skin back slowly and _Crucio_ the exposed filth.” Bellatrix breathed in Hermione’s stench and hummed. “_Crucio_!” she yelled, while holding her wand to the wound on Hermione’s arm. 

Both their screams filled Hermione’s ears and her vision turned black and red. Her skull was closing in on her eyes and brain and she was choking on her tongue. “Please…” she gasped when the _Crucio_ subsided. Hermione could not grasp the situation any longer. Why was Bellatrix fascinated with the sword? Why would she think Hermione would betray Harry for Malfoy? Had she discovered his doubt?  
_“There must be something important in her vault. _ _And she suspects that Draco has been helping you; she suspects that he is protective of you. You must wait for an opportunity to escape and take him with you!”_

Images of her interactions with Draco tried to push forward. “_No!”_ the voice yelled. “_Think of your muggle world! Of the boy who hurt you. Don’t give her any access to your real life! Imagine a spiderweb and put all the safe memories in the middle to trap her attention. Use the information you discovered while researching Occlumency!”_

Bellatrix stood and motioned to the few remaining snatchers. “Hose her down.” They approached and Hermione felt warm, foul smelling liquid hit her body and began to whimper. It was piss. They were urinating on her. She turned to hide her face and wounded arm as she listened to their laughter. Her vision was still distorted and the pressure in her head was unbearable.  
“_Bella is insane,” _the voice whispered.

“Wormtail! Bring me the goblin!” Bellatrix roared while Hermione closed her eyes in exhaustion.

* * *

Wormtail cautiously made his way down the slippery stairs to the dungeons. He cradled his metal arm and tried to banish the images of the girl being tortured on the floor above. He’d recognized her, of course. She had been an integral part of his life when he was the rat, Scabbers. Perhaps, he should tell her about her cat. It was impossible to believe that the kneazle had found his way to Harry. Lily truly did inspire loyalty in the strangest of creatures. 

He shook his head, pushing aside the guilt at his role in her death. Crookshanks could fend for himself. Harry Potter was a simple inconvenience in Wormtail’s life. And the mudblood could bleed out, for all he cared. He reminded himself to look forward to the torture that would come when the goblin revealed what they all already knew: the sword was not a fake.

He grinned to himself; the presence of these three brats would certainly take some of the attention off of him. Until now, the only ones less significant than he had been the Malfoys, themselves. As only the Dark Lord and Bellatrix were allowed to harass them, Wormtail had found himself to be the target of many a bored Death Eater, Loyalist and Snatcher. Until tonight.

Tonight, his luck had changed. All he had to do was bring the goblin upstairs. What could Harry Potter do about that? He was tied up and trapped in a cold, dark cellar. 

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy watched in guarded horror as the girl her son admired lay bleeding out on her floor. She would survive; Bellatrix had made sure of that. She would survive and be disfigured for the rest of her life. And Narcissa had no doubt that Bellatrix was far from done using that horrid dagger. 

Lucius and Draco were behind Narcissa and it was impossible for her not to feel the terror coming off of her son in waves. She knew that Lucius was communicating with Draco just as she had been with the girl. He had to piggyback through her mind to do it and it was draining on her, but she found that with Lucius by her side, she was much stronger and healed much more quickly than she had been without him. They simply could not be separated again.

_“I’ve seen inside her head, Lucuis. That is the sword of Gryffindor.”  
_Lucius barely moved behind her, his hand gripping Draco to the point his knuckles were white.  
_“Dobby is here,” _he answered._ “I think he’ll get them out. We have to get Draco to him or they’ll leave without him.”  
__“She’s impressive, Lucius,”_ Narcissa projected as she watched the girl breathe slowly on the floor._ “She isn’t what you’ve come to expect of them.”  
“I have no desire to see for myself. If you’re willing to delve into the sluff of her mind, I won’t stop you. The house is furious her blood has spilled here.”  
__“Not for the reasons you assume, Lucius. You aren’t listening...”  
__“She’s a filthy mudblood! Are you truly confident we should send him with her?”  
__“She’s a muggleborn with more magical strength than you’re willing to see!”  
__“I am not blind to her strength, Narcissa. I simply wonder from whom she stole it.”_

Narcissa forced herself to table this discussion; now was not the time. Bella was ignoring the girl as she waited for Wormtail to retrieve the goblin, but the torture would begin tenfold when they returned.

She catalogued the people in the room. Fortunately, Bella had rid them of most of the Snatchers. But Fenrir and a handful remained, licking their lips in anticipation of the fun they could have with the girl. Wormtail would be back momentarily and the goblin’s loyalties would only be to himself. Understandable, really. 

Narcissa breathed deeply and caressed the wand nestled in her waistband. _“You have to allow him to go to her, Lucius.”  
_She felt her husband tense. _“Your sister suspects us already. She felt our resistance in acknowledging Potter and his friends. She will murder him before he moves two steps towards Ms. Granger.”  
__“You said Dobby was here. Surely, they will come for her. That will cause a distraction.”  
__“What do you expect me to do? Shove him?”  
__“All you have to do, Lucius, is let him go.”_

“What is taking him so long?” Bellatrix said, her voice distracting the pair from their musings.   
Lucius stomped his feet noisily on the floor. “Is there a problem, Wormtail?” he said loudly towards the stairs.   
“Nothing,” they heard from below. “All fine.” 

Draco made a small sound behind them and Narcissa shushed him with her stare. Whatever he’d picked up on from the reply, the rest of them had missed. She quickly looked into his eyes and found he was ready for her. She read his thoughts and accepted his confidence in his belief that those words were spoken by the Weasley and not Wormtail. She nodded her head at him and turned back to her sister.

Bellatrix, however, was still staring at the stairs. She tilted her head to the side as if listening for something and Narcissa was afraid that she also suspected that it wasn’t Wormtail who replied. Narcissa watched in dread as Bella gingerly played with the twine around her neck and started mumbling quietly to herself.

_“She’s chanting,”_ Lucius sent to her.  
_“She suspects it wasn’t Wormtail. Can you get to your spare?”  
__“No.”_

“No!” shouted Bellatrix suddenly. “Grubber!”

* * *

Distantly, Hermione could make out the sounds of running feet and Bellatrix’s yells. She felt small, leathery fingers on her wrist and blurrily looked into the large blue eyes of a familiar house elf. Dobby.

Hermione closed her eyes. “_Take him with you!”_

Draco’s voice cut through the noise around them. “Granger! No!” And as Hermione felt the spinning motion of apparition take hold of her body, she also felt the heavy weight of another body slam into hers and heard the unmistakable cry of pain as arms wrapped around her.

* * *

He hadn’t been willing to go through the shimmering fabric. He hadn’t been ready to leave. So, he’d held onto his lifeless body as the veil opened wide to admit him. He’d eyed the metal arm that had stayed with him in death and then watched the horror on Harry Potter’s face as the boy realized that the man who’d nearly strangled him now lay dead before him. 

Curiosity got the best of Peter Pettigrew, and he’d trailed behind the two running boys as they rushed to the aid of their friend amid the angry shouts from Bellatrix above. Iridescent ropes seemed to connect him to his body, but they grew longer as he moved farther away, and he put them out of his mind. 

He floated up the stairs, no fear of falling. He knew what he was; what he had become in death. But he didn’t quite understand why no one could see him. He stubbornly moved forward, away from his body and the ache to go beyond the veil. He was too afraid to go there; he wasn’t sure what fate, or punishment, he would face.

Peter reveled in the joy he felt at Bellatrix’s rage and he once again examined the metal arm he was doomed with. Perhaps, if he went beyond the veil, he could be rid of it once and for all. Whatever evil the Dark Lord had put on him had betrayed him. It was the hand that had killed him. He eyed the blemish left behind from Bellatrix’s games in the kitchen so long ago and, briefly, wondered if it hadn’t been Bellatrix’s doing instead.

It was chaos in the Malfoy Manor. A house elf was causing much confusion and seemed to be defying Bellatrix. And the Malfoys weren’t stopping anyone. Peter eyed the situation carefully and he watched the young Malfoy rush between the injured girl and the flying dagger his aunt had thrown. As the house elf apparated the trio away, the dagger went with them. Maybe, that would be the end of the Malfoy line.

Peter laughed at Bellatrix’s screams as she threw hexes at the werewolf and snatchers in the room. He would not go beyond the veil. No, he would stay to see what the Dark Lord did to her after this mistake. Peter would no longer fear the wrath of Voldemort’s wand. 

He noticed the ropes around him slacken, slightly. He was distracted from investigating further, though, as Narcissa Malfoy was looking around the room. Had she not realized that her son was gone? Why was she not calling for him? Her eyes suddenly looked in his direction and he was sure that she could see him. 

“Lost your boy?” he asked her. But she continued to look around the room. “I will not be ignored anymore!” he yelled.   
The house shook. Great, massive rumblings around him, but none of the people below seemed aware of the disturbance. With alarm, he noticed that one of the ropes connecting him to his body was starting to unravel.

Fear gripped him and he once again looked at the metal arm. He couldn’t bear to have it any longer. Whatever was behind the veil was, at least, a chance of losing the blasted thing. He hurried back towards his body.

“What was that?” someone yelled as he floated past.  
  
Anxiety latched onto his chest. He was no longer invisible; did he still have time to leave this place? The sparkling ropes connecting him to his body were fraying and he watched in horror as the veil around his lifeless form began to disappear.

He reached forward with his metal arm and begged for his luck to finally change.

* * *

Ron stood motionless in horror. Dobby had, miraculously, been able to rescue all of them from Malfoy Manor. All of them, including Draco Malfoy. He had no idea what had possessed the elf to save him, but from the looks of the wound on the other boy’s arm, he’d likely bleed to death in the next few minutes anyway. 

“Dobby, please, I’m begging you! Please go back for them!” Malfoy screamed as the elf examined the dagger protruding from the boy’s arm. The placement had been poetic, Ron realized. It had gone through Malfoy’s arm so that the point was piercing the snake as it came from the skull’s mouth of his Dark Mark.

“He can’t go back, Malfoy! He’d be killed,” Harry said.   
“Please!” Draco screamed, spit and blood flying from his mouth. “My parent’s will be killed! Please!”  
Draco’s voice broke in his final plea and Ron flinched, imagining himself in Malfoy’s position.

“You have to let her go so we can get her to the cottage,” Luna said beside Malfoy.   
Hermione was still in his arms, unconscious. The amount of blood on the ground was unsettling. Ron knew that it was both of their blood combined. It was almost beautiful in the indecency of it. The bigoted pureblood cradling the hated mudblood in a pool of their joined blood. 

Draco seemed to tighten his hold before his eyes focused on Luna. “Luna?”  
“Yes, Draco. Let me help her.”

Ron jumped when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked to see his brother, Bill, had arrived. Both he and Fleur must have run to the shore when the wards had been triggered.

“Oh, sweet Merleen!” Fleur cried out. “Bill, we must get them both to the cottage!”

“No!” Draco screamed. “I have to go back! I have to—”  
“No, Draco,” Luna said gently beside him.   
Malfoy stopped suddenly, as if he’d been slapped, and looked at Luna. After a moment, he nodded his head. He released his grip on Hermione and fell into a heap in Luna’s arms. “What will happen to them?” he whimpered.

Ron, feeling like an intruder, looked to Harry. But his friend was staring at Malfoy. 

“We should not use magic, I do not theenk, to move her,” Fleur said. “I do not know what spells were used on her.”  
“Ask him,” Ron said, ignorant of the heat in his own voice, as he pointed to Malfoy. “He was there for the whole thing.”  
He turned to look at their school rival, but found that Malfoy had passed out. “Bollocks!” he yelled. “He’s fainted!”

Bill was already en route to the cottage, carrying Hermione carefully in his arms. Ollivander, who was leaning heavily on Dean Thomas, and the goblin, Griphook, were behind him. 

“Harry Potter and his Weasley will help Dobby get him there,” Dobby said. “Dobby has stopped the bleeedings.”

Harry looked like he might argue. “He could die,” Luna said and Harry shook the hesitation from his body and moved to lift Draco’s feet.   
Ron situated his hands in Malfoy’s armpits and the little elf supported the body from underneath. 

* * *

Hermione couldn’t help but stare at the boy who lay in the bed next to her. Their eyes were locked, but neither had spoken, yet. 

She’d woken in the unfamiliar room from what she was shocked to realize had been a very restful sleep. She remembered what had happened and had fully anticipated she would see it every time she closed her eyes. She was probably still just in shock.

She wasn’t sure how many days they’d been at the cottage. More than a few, she’d wager. And it must be a small abode if she and Draco were sharing a room. 

She licked her lips. “You warned us,” she said.  
Draco blinked. ‘You’re really awake?”  
“My eyes are open, aren’t they? And I’m talking to you.”  
“Yes, well, you’ve been staring at me for awhile and I assumed you were just sleeping with your eyes open.”

Hermione suddenly felt uncomfortable and slowly moved into a sitting position on the bed. Her movements were slow and she tried to take inventory of all of her aches and pains. She knew her head would be aching soon. She looked at the bandage on her arm and waited for the pain to rise up... she was not disappointed. Aside from the horrible headache, her arm seemed to be the only lasting pain. 

Draco mirrored her movements and she caught sight of a bandage on his arm. Where a Dark Mark would be. As if he knew what had caught her attention, he held his arm out for her to see. 

“From my aunt’s dagger,” he said before resting his arm again.  
“It hit you when you threw yourself at Dobby and me,” she said.  
Draco only nodded his head.   
“So, you were warning me. You protected me. Again,” Hermione said, staring intently at the confusing boy.

“Don’t ask me to explain why, Granger,” he said, answering her implied question but refusing to look at her. “I don’t know why. I don’t think about what I’m doing when it comes to you, I just find myself doing it.”  
“Saving a filthy mudblood?” she asked, not even attempting to hide her hurt in the question. “Harry won’t trust you because of how you’ve acted since we’ve known you. So, have you found your answer?”

Draco looked at her in confusion, one eyebrow raised in that way that always made her jealous.  
“Am I an abomination? Did I steal my magic?” she asked.

Hermione watched the tension in his face as he clenched his jaw and turned away from her again. His eyes closed slowly and he was quiet for a moment before he laughed. It was a small sound, more of a tight cough. “What a completely asinine idea. Isn’t it?” he asked as he stared at the wall in front of him. “How would a _nonmagical_ person _steal_ magic from a witch or wizard? How can that even be done?”

“I’ve always wondered that, myself,” Hermione said.  
Draco turned to her. “Has anyone explained the theory to you?”  
Hermione shook her head, surprised to realize that she’d never asked, either; she already knew it wasn’t the truth.  
“Well let me finally tell you something you don’t already know,” he said, a conceited smirk on his face. “Supposedly, squibs are victims of the evil muggles who discover our magic and steal it from a mother’s womb.”

Hermione inhaled sharply and Draco’s expression softened. “It’s a spooky story, Granger. A made-up answer to explain away why pureblood children are, more often than not anymore, discovered to have little or no magic. To explain why muggleborns are rising in numbers. And to scare the wizarding community into falling into the pureblood doctrines. And, it is a story that every Slytherin is told. If not from infancy, then as soon as they enter the common room at Hogwarts. And so many of us have a relative who has been hidden away and disregarded because they were robbed of their magic when they were defenseless to protect themselves. Robbed by someone like you.” He laughed again, the sound bitter this time. “A little girl or boy, galivanting around and rubbing the magic out of a witch’s belly.”

“You all believed that?” she asked.  
“We were children. And the explanations can get much more complex, really. If I question how a muggle child could be so powerful, I’m told to fear them and never let them know I’m a wizard or they’ll steal my magic. And then I’m told that only witches should fear them and only when they’re pregnant. And we should abolish the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy because we are superior to muggles and they should bow down to us. And when I question which is true, I am told that mudbloods are filthy thieves and will never master the magic they stole. That not all muggles can steal magic, or the mudbloods would have shared the secret. And maybe it isn’t the children who steal magic, but just pregnant muggle women. And no matter who stole the magic, I should hate all muggleborns because they are ignorant and will dirty the magical lines of real witches and wizards.”

Hermione stared at Draco, her mouth open wide. “None of that makes sense,” she said. “It’s all contradictory and unsubstantiated.”  
“I know. But when it’s all you hear all of your life, you start taking for granted that it’s true. And questioning it, is like questioning your very existence. My father raised me on all of this. He wanted to believe it for so long because he feels it is his duty to protect the magic of his ancestors. My father, who is unkind and selfish and narcissistic, will stop and assist any pregnant witch he encounters. If he finds she is alone, he will ensure she has safe passage home and chastise her husband for not protecting her. I once saw him beat a man with his cane for walking ahead of his pregnant wife, letting her fall behind. My father broke his legs, and made me wait with him while he escorted the woman home. When my father returned, he healed the man and then broke his nose. And then he told him that it was his duty to protect his family.”  
Draco seemed to realize that he had fisted his uninjured hand. He took a deep breath and tried to relax his fingers. “This is the man who raised me. Family first. Purity only. Duty to our magic.”

Hermione hated that she appreciated the ideas behind the madness. “I can understand wanting to follow that,” she said. “I mean, wanting to stand by your father when he, well, when he thinks he is defending something so important.”  
“I still believe in those things. Family. Purity. Duty. I just don’t think you stole your magic. I don’t know anything more than that.”  
“Do you think of me as a mudblood?”

Draco cringed visibly. “Yes,” he said quietly. “And no.”

Hermione tried to push down the hurt. It was better that he was telling her the truth. It was better that she knew how he felt before this crush she had been denying could turn into anything more.

“Listen, please,” he said. “It isn’t that I think you are filthy or a fake. It’s stupid, but it’s just a word in my mental dictionary. I can’t get rid of it. Mudblood is synonymous to muggleborn in my head. I am working on it not being the first word that comes to mind, but it’s there. It’s always there. I can literally hear it reverberate through my head in my father’s voice. And when I see you, anymore – most of the time, now, you’re just _Granger_ or _her_… but, sometimes, you’re _filthy mudblood_ mocking me in my own voice and reminding me I don’t deserve to talk to you. I can’t stand it! I can’t stand that I was so wrong and so confident in my ignorance!”

Hermione sat quietly and let him collect himself. The blanket had become an annoyance during his confession, but she wasn’t prepared to come out from under it. She bit back her retort – her many arguments to his tantrum. Would he ever view her as just a witch? Would she always be a category, as if something lesser? She turned to the nightstand and was relieved to see a glass of water waiting there, still ice cold from an obvious stasis charm. She slowly reached for the glass, anxious for the delicious cold to slide down her throat and cool her body. 

Once again, Draco mirrored her movements. They sat quietly drinking their water together until there was a soft knock on the door. Hermione looked at Malfoy, but he continued to stare at the wall in front of him. 

The door opened slowly and Luna poked her head in. She looked at them carefully and then smiled. “You’ve made progress, I see,” she said. “Some of the knots have unkinked.”

Luna continued to stare at them both as she entered the room. Fleur and Bill were right behind her.   
“Hello,” Hermione said as she smiled at the three of them. “Thank you for letting us stay here and for tending to our injuries.”

“It was our pleasure,” said Fleur. “But, now zat you are both awake, we need discuss what has happened to you both.”  
Hermione saw Draco turn to Fleur from the corner of her eye. “What do you mean?” he asked.  
Bill stepped forward. “Have you looked at her hair?” he asked.

Moving quickly, Draco turned to her, his eyes darting. Until suddenly they stopped and grew slightly larger.   
“Ron said that your mother’s hair had gone almost completely white,” Bill said. “And now, with this streak of white hair in Hermione’s, we can’t help but wonder –“

“What?” Hermione gasped. “My hair has turned white?”  
Luna was already handing her a mirror and Hermione snatched it quickly. Remembering the way Malfoy’s eyes had moved, she found it relatively quickly. A thick line of white hair on her right temple, tucked behind her ear. She combed her hair with her fingers, pulling the strands forward and, casting the mirror aside, she examined them carefully. They were beautiful, really. White was too easy a word to describe them. They were full of color, almost a rainbow as the light bounced off of them. They seemed to pick up a warm tone, mostly, as if complimenting her natural color. No, white was too simple a word to describe them.   
“Do you suppose it was from being under the _Crucio_ for so long?” she asked.  
“They have a magical feel about them,” Bill said. “And it isn’t dark.” He hesitated a moment before looking at Draco. “It resembled your hair so much, we tested yours, too.”

Draco didn’t look surprised. “My father revealed a great deal to me shortly before he and my mother begged me to leave with Granger and her lot. I don’t know how much I can say, so if I stumble it is only because I am prevented from revealing something.” He took a quick breath. “My aunt cursed my mother,” he rushed out before grabbing his head in pain. “She has meddled with old magic and bound my fam—” he gasped for breath, blood trickling from his nose.

“Stop!” Luna screamed. “Let me. I can explain what I see, but you must stop now.”  
Draco nodded his head, dabbing his bloody nose with a cloth Fleur had given him.  
“There are two spells fighting for control in Draco,” Luna said. “One is a black tree that umbrellas his aura. It is a very dark spell and is attempting to penetrate the second spell in order to bind Draco. The second spell is a sphere of light that envelops his aura and blocks the branches. Both of Draco’s parents have these same spells, however, the sphere around Mrs. Malfoy radiates from within her. All three trees share roots with a dark magic circling Bellatrix’s head,” she said to the group. Luna approached Draco and placed her hand on his forehead. “When you attempted to describe your aunt’s spell, the sphere began to shake. I don’t think you should do that again.”

“What does that have to do with my hair?” asked Hermione.  
“The magic from the sphere matches the magic of Draco’s hair,” Luna said.  
“Of course!” Bill said. “A shield charm placed in utero and bound to your magical core. Your parents must have known about this curse and wanted to protect you; the curse must be rooted in blood magic, which would mean anyone tied to you by blood would be at risk.”

“Why is my hair white?” Hermione asked, afraid of the answer. She looked over at Draco’s bandaged arm and then at her own and tried to remember everything she’d ever read about blood magic. “I don’t understand…”

“Several roots from Draco’s tree are reaching out for you,” Luna said. “But you have your own sphere and it is as strong as Draco’s. It began to shake when he started to discuss the curse.” Luna reached forward and pulled a few more strands of hair forward. “And more of your hair turned white.”

“How did this happen?” Draco asked, pushing aside his covers and sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Your blood mixed together due to injuries from the same cursed dagger,” said Bill.   
“There is no way that would be enough to create this kind of bond,” hissed Malfoy. “How connected are we? What kind of blood bond is this?”

“She’s a ward of the Malfoy estate,” came the squeaky voice of Dobby. He was standing inside the doorway, a tea service prepared on the tray he was carrying. “Dobby is a free elf, but Dobby will always recognize a Malfoy.”  
“I’m a Malfoy!” Hermione shrieked.  
“Calm down, ‘Ermione,” said Fleur. “A ward of the ‘estate is not a family member.”

“The magic of the manor was unsettled by the torture Bellatrix was placing on Granger,” said Draco. “Many witches and wizards have been tortured by her and the Dark Lord’s wands, but hers was different. My father said that mother was shielding her. Perhaps because they were trying to protect her—”

“It was your mother?” asked Hermione. “She was the one who was talking to me, helping me stay strong?”

But Bill would not be distracted. “If your wounds touched in the manor while your family was protecting her, it is possible, depending on the type of magic the manor was built on, that it viewed her as a ward.”  
“The magic is ancient,” said Draco. “And the dagger hit me while I was shielding Granger from it.”  
“It went through ‘is arm, Bill. The wounds likely touched.”  
“Through your arm?” Hermione exclaimed. “It was a cursed dagger!”

Hermione could vividly recall Fleur’s words when she’d first looked at the ugly scar on her arm. _It is permanent_. She looked again at Malfoy’s bandaged arm and realized he had yet to move the fingers on that hand. She cast her own blankest aside and sat on the edge of her bed. Facing Malfoy, she gently took his injured hand and held the lifeless fingers in her own.

“I think it is time I told you all something else,” said Luna.  
“Where are Harry and Ron?” asked Hermione.   
“Talking to Ollivander,” said Bill. “Harry said it was important and that you’d understand.”  
“Dobby will go to them,” said Dobby. “Then Dobby makes supper.”

“Dumbledore’s distraction,” Hermione mumbled to herself as Dobby hurried from the room.   
“What did you say?” asked Bill.

“You really do need to hear what I have to say,” said Luna. “And Harry will figure his next move out soon enough, Hermione.”  
“I’m sorry, Luna,” said Hermione. “I’m just used to having him around. And I can tell this is important.”  
“You aren’t done with each other, yet. But three is no longer the best number.”

“Luna,” said Draco. “Tell us what it is we need to know. I am experienced enough with you to know that it may take me awhile to work it out, so I would appreciate as much time as possible to work through it.”

Hermione bit back a smile and Luna explained. “When I first started seeing the world completely, I tried to get some help from Professor Trelawney. When she saw me, she knew immediately that I could access the Oculi Somniantes and she commanded me to stop. She said that I was dangerous and backed away from me.”

“That hag,” said Draco and Hermione couldn’t help but appreciate the sentiment.

Luna smiled softly. “Thank you, Draco, but I have moved on. The important thing is that I believe she foretold another prophesy. Firenze told me to forget what she had said, but I couldn’t. So, I went to Professor Dumbledore. He told me to wait for signs that it was unfolding and share it only with those I sensed should know.”

“Should we leave the room?” asked Bill.  
“No,” said Luna. 

Hermione felt content with Luna’s answer. She looked at the five of them in the room and knew that they were all meant to be there.

“Professor Trelawney erupted with magic. I was too inexperienced to really understand what I was seeing at the time, but in retrospect, her inactive Oculi Somniantes must have burst with an overflow of sight. The prophesy she told seems to be about you two,” Luna said as she looked at Draco and Hermione. “And, possibly, your aunt.”

“What was it?” asked Hermione.  
“I wrote it down,” said Luna. She reached into the pocket of her tunic and pulled out a yellow button. “Does someone have a wand that I could borrow?”

Bill promptly handed her his. With a delicate tap, Luna touched the button and they all watched as it turned into a small piece of yellow parchment. Luna handed it to Hermione’s outstretched hand. Hermione leaned into Draco and they read the words together. 

_She will be marked by the life blood of her enemy, he by his creators… as the dust settles from death’s battle, the witch of the oak woods will covet their defense... ancient magic will unleash both darkness and light… the circle cannot be broken until the ransom of life-blood is served._

“He isn’t my enemy,” said Hermione.  
“I’m a marked Death Eater, Granger. You’re a muggleborn. I don’t think you could call us anything else.”  
“You aren’t my enemy,” she said sternly. 

“To an outsider, ‘e is,” said Fleur. 

A loud knock on the door disrupted their conversation and Fleur quickly opened it to allow Harry and Ron to enter. Harry stopped suddenly, and Hermione realized that she and Draco were still huddled towards each other. She made no move to back away and neither did he. 

“Hermione,” Ron said. “You’re looking much better! And you are, too, Malfoy. I suppose that’s a good thing.”  
“Why do I feel like we missed something important,” said Harry.  
“Because,” said Luna, “we have a lot to tell you. And you, Harry, have a lot to tell all of us. Starting with the Sword of Gryffindor.”


	22. Surreptitious Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: drugging, coercion, dubious consent

He should have made sure the Malfoys were offered asylum. But instead, Severus thought as he strode up the gravel road to Malfoy Manor, he’d catered to all of Albus’s whims. 

His posture was rigid and his face unreadable, and he noted that the fog that surrounded the manor had spread, its water droplets clinging to his skin and freezing to his robes. Had he not made this walk so many times before, he would certainly have found himself lost. 

There was no question that the Dark Lord had unleashed his fury here. The weight of his dark magic lingered in the air and clung to the frozen moisture obscuring Severus’s vision. Was Draco all right? Focusing his attention, Severus was able to identify the vibrations from the manor. The rhythm was fast and hard, bringing forth feelings of anger and sorrow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the house would be the next being he would find himself battling.

He was unnerved to find the door to the manor wide open, seeming to have burst from its hinges, and the fog was creeping into the building. Several Snatchers lay unconscious before him. Their lifeless bodies were sprawled against the wall and across the floor as if a strong wave had hurled them away from the room ahead. In the light, Severus was able to see that there were drops of blood on the floor and out the door as if someone had run from the place. Already the stench of death had settled.

He followed the screeching of a voice he recognized too well. Bellatrix was screaming, her words barely recognizable, and he could hear her magic spiraling. He heard no other voices, though, and he feared for the Malfoys. Relying on years of remaining unseen, Severus made his way forward. Unconsciously, he matched his steps to the rhythm of the manor, fast and hard, but eerily silent.

“I cannot find them! The magic of this place still shields them from me. And without – I will have to make a new one! But, with the right sacrifice, it will be magnificent, perhaps better than the last!” Bellatrix stammered.  
Severus eyed the mad woman as she paced the room, pulling at her hair and seeming to talk to herself. It was absolutely clear that she had just been tortured, her robes were scorched and torn and her hair was more riotous than her norm. Even her color was off, too grey to look healthy. But she had a look of delighted anticipation. It wasn’t until she spun quickly and got down on her haunches that he realized there was a house elf in the room with her. 

Severus had never seen such an elf before. It looked unnatural, as if its skin were made of wood and dirt. “It’s time, Grubber,” he heard Bellatrix say. “His misdeeds will be punished, at a cost to both of us. Is there any of the Luftspeiling potion left?”

Severus tensed at her words. Luftspeiling was a Norwegian potion of folklore. The vast majority of the ingredients were rare, if not extinct. The magic it drew, if even real, was impossible to duplicate. Like a mirage, the potion would cause the person who came in contact with it to see an illusion based on the temperature and light around them. The potion was one of few that did not have to be ingested, but could be absorbed through the skin. 

The bizarre elf nodded his head quickly. “There is enough for two more doses, but there are no more ingredients to make it again.”  
Bellatrix nodded her head at the elf, her expression unreadable. “Then I will have all of it for tonight,” she said.

Severus quickly entered her mind when the elf popped away. Just as he’d moved through the corridor on his way to her, silently and almost invisible, Severus moved within her thoughts. A giant oak tree loomed in her mind, its presence dominating her thoughts and rooted deep into her stream of consciousness. He’d seen this tree every time he’d penetrated her head, but it seemed larger now. As if a parasite, eating away at her. The roots rose up, ready to push him from her mind, but he was prepared and side-stepped them easily. He catalogued the events of the evening: Potter and his friends’ capture, Ms. Grangers torture and valiant resistance, the prisoners escaping and the meddlesome house elf apparating away with Ms. Granger and Draco. Bellatrix’s dagger sailing towards them. And the Dark Lord’s punishments to those who remained. 

Only the Malfoy’s had attempted to protect Bellatrix. Severus, knowing their motivations to do so, could see that they tried only enough to appease their compulsions to do Bellatrix’s bidding. But they were alive, having fled from the room as soon as the Dark Lord had made his exodus; the magic of the manor protecting them as it always would. Neither had tended to the fallen Death Eaters or werewolf. Had her elf not arrived, Bellatrix would most likely still be reeling on the floor, although, once again she had withstood more than she should have.

She was wandless, Severus realized. The Weasley boy had disarmed Bellatrix with, he assumed, Wormtail’s wand; Severus cast aside his approval as he hurried through the witch’s thoughts. Draco had also been disarmed when he’d run to Ms. Granger. By Potter, of course. Most likely James’s son assumed Draco would hurt the girl. Idiot.

Before he could examine the memory more, however, a giant branch, from the menacing oak that made up her mental walls, swooped down on his connection and forced him from her mind.   
“Get out of my head, you worthless pile!” roared Bellatrix.

She was suddenly in front of him, magic sparking from her hair and fingertips.  
“It seems, Bellatrix, that you are slipping farther down the chain of command with each poor decision you make,” he said to her. He kept his eyes on her, but could easily see the agitation in her fingers as they rolled the surfacing magic.  
“Look around you,” she said. “I am the only one left standing. My master knows where my loyalties lie.”  
“Are you saying you are on the same level as Lucius? I suppose, that is true, actually. Both of you are wandless. Both of you have endured much torture by the Dark Lord. And both of you were left behind in this place, conscious to consider your mistakes.”  
“Have you so easily forgotten that you were on your knees in agony in front of the Dark Lord?”  
“But not by his hand. No, he made a boy deliver my sentence. A boy proven to be incapable of performing dark magic. A boy offered up to the Dark Lord by you. Even his parents didn’t bother to do so, knowing he was inadequate.”  
“As I recall, Severus, my master had you deliver my sentence and I was still standing at the end.”

Using their verbal sparring as a distraction, he entered her mind again. The oak tree was still looming, its roots and branches forming a wall around her thoughts. Severus was caught off guard; her occlumency was improving at an alarming rate.

She was smirking at him and he felt the painful pressure of her mental attack. Her smirk faded when she realized she was unable to enter his mind, but Severus vowed to strengthen his mental distractions. She was beginning to alarm him. If she were to obtain a wand, he was not confident he could keep her out completely and his only recourse would be to fool her as he did the Dark Lord.

“I have tasks to complete, Severus. Aren’t you supposed to be babysitting the Hogwarts brats?”  
“The Dark Lard invited me here to update me on his plans,” he replied.  
Her face betrayed her jealously. “Well, you mustn’t be late. And I mustn’t neglect my duties, either,” she said.  
“What duties can you complete for our Lord, without your wand?” Severus asked, not hiding his laughter.  
“What wizard relies only on a wand to wield their greatest strength?” she said.

Instinct alone saved him. He had wandlessly cast a stinging hex and must have cast a shield without a thought. His hex bounced off her shield and collided with the spell she had cast on him. Her spell was unfamiliar to him. Likely her own creation. But it was violent. The magical signature in the air left little room to question what her intent had been.  
“Don’t let me keep you, Bellatrix,” he said.

With narrowed eyes, the witch spun away from him and hurried to the nearby floo. He momentarily considered killing her. Perhaps, when the Dark Lord was dealt with, he would. Though her murder would be a distraction from the danger of the Dark Lord now, it would, after all, serve as protection for his godson to be rid of her.

* * *

Malfoy Manor had numerous mysteries. Hidden passages and secret doors. Walls that were built with timber and stone fragments from Stanenges. And deep beneath its structure, under the heart of its foundation, was a chamber containing the first object used to harness Malfoy magic.

The path to the chamber was not an easy one to follow. In order to gain entry, an exact route had to be followed in the hidden passages. To turn around even once would prevent finding the doorway that led to the stone stairs down. And knowing the sequence of turns and doors would only lead to the entrance. In order to pass, one must have magical, pure, Malfoy blood.

Narcissa relied only on her memory and had never failed to find her way. She had learned that Lucius could close his eyes and the pulse of the manor would lead him through the tunnels. Draco, who had never dared go down to the chamber on his own, said that he would come to the entrance when lost in thought, unaware of how he had arrived. He said he would stare at the entrance and recognize the magic of his ancestors before returning to the manor proper.

Her hand firmly in Lucius’s, Narcissa made her way carefully down the stairs to the chamber. Torches had lit up as soon as they had crossed the entrance, ensuring they could see their way down. It was past time that they had done this, but they had been afraid to enter the chamber when the house was full of unwanted guests. 

However, the events of the evening left them no choice. The manor had accepted a new ward and Lucius was deeply afraid that the magic of his home would be corrupted because of her blood status. 

“It will be fine, Lucius,” she murmured as they neared the chamber, although, she didn’t know if it was true. While she did not believe the manor would have accepted a ward that would be dangerous to it, she could not deny that the magic of the manor was enraged.   
“She’s not a witch. Not a real one, anyway. Her blood isn’t pure and it has been accepted into the opus of this place!” he said, hurrying them faster towards the archway that opened to the chamber.

He stopped just outside the chamber and pulled a stone brick from the wall. Cutting his finger on a sharp corner of the brick, he wiped the blood in the space the brick had been. As if it had been there all along, a wand lay in the opening.   
To his confusion, Narcissa held her hand out to Lucius.  
“I need my spare,” she said.   
“What happened to your wand?”  
“I cast it to Draco when he was disarmed on his way to the girl – He would have been helpless against Bella.”  
Lucius handed the stone to Narcissa and she mimicked his actions. As soon as her blood touched the opening, another wand was there. 

Relief flooded Narcissa as soon as she grasped her spare wand. The Dark Lord had obtained the record of all items in the Malfoy vaults and would have demanded the wands had he known of them. And while they had a spare vault no one knew of, they could not access it in the current climate. No one else knew of this chamber, however, not even Severus. 

Lucius was staring at the entry to the chamber, his fear evident.   
“What will it find when we enter there?” asked Narcissa. “When it looks into the essence of our magic and demands an answer for what has angered it, what will become of us?”

“I saw into his head when we forced him to escape. I saw what he feels for her, even if he hasn’t acknowledged it himself. And we sent him away with her; we gave him away to a mudblood. All I can do, is hope that the manor will continue to protect us while I live and breathe.”

“It accepted her as a ward, Lucius. The manor did not let her die. It protected her as we did,” Narcissa said.  
“As you did!” Lucius screamed. “You should have let her die, Narcissa! The Dark Lord is confident we are hiding something now. He has suspected the manor since he first stepped foot in this place. And he has suspected you for years! What will become of us if Bellatrix discovers what you can do? She will turn you over to him in a heartbeat! I have sent my son to blood traitors and filth in order to keep him safe! And I allowed my wife to shield a mudblood in this home. It is very likely the manor will end my life or take my magic the moment I enter that chamber.”

“You speak of the manor as if it is sentient. It is the magic of your ancestors, Lucius. And their magic will not kill you over a muggleborn witch! The magic of your ancestors is enraged, not because that girl is now a ward, but because of what we have let in this home. The Dark Lord is attempting to steal this place from under you. His minions are mocking the Malfoy name within the very walls that channel your ancestral magic!”

“Santimonia Vincet Semper!” Lucius said, his tone harsh. “Purity will always conquer. The Dark Lord is fighting for just that! The house would not reject his cause or his means to achieve it. But I am failing in my role in his command. I am not a man of power anymore. And now a mudblood has become my responsibility to protect!”

“He is fighting for himself. No one else. And the manor, your familial magic, has no qualms with those who are not pureblooded.”  
“How dare you –” Lucius roared.  
But Narcissa cut him off. 

“I am not a Black!” she shouted. 

Lucius was made silent, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. As he began to shake his head, Narcissa continued.

“Druella Black stole me from my parents when I was only a few days old. She did so, because her child was stillborn. She placed her child in my crib and made her to look like me. And she made me to look like her babe. She drained most of her magical core completing the transformations and was never able to recover.”

“How do you know all of this?” Lucius asked.   
Narcissa just stared at him before he nodded his head. “Of course. She had barely any magic and you read her unguarded mind.”

Narcissa watched as her husband fell back against the wall, unable to stand on his own. She considered ending her tale there, aware that he may suddenly despise her if he knew the rest. It would be easy for him to delude himself that she was kidnapped from a pureblooded family; for the two of them to continue on as if nothing had really changed. 

“The magic here knows your secrets,” he said to her. “Why would it keep this from me?”  
“Because it doesn’t matter,” she said. “My blood status has nothing to do with my ability as a witch. It has nothing to do with my purity as a Malfoy. I am your wife. They union was accepted in this manor before we said our vows.”

Lucius stared at her for some time and she decided to follow his lead. The seeds were there, at least. Perhaps, the chamber would reveal what he needed to know in order to protect them from the coming storm.

“Who were you taken from?” he asked.   
Narcissa smiled sadly. “I love you, Lucius,” she said as she choked back a sob.  
She watched her husband stiffen as if bracing himself for a blow. “Who?” he asked again. 

She considered showing him instead of telling him. But, at this moment, she didn’t want to see what was in his head; she was too afraid to know what he was thinking. “Druella took me from Thonia White, nee Aporri” she said, refusing to look away. She would face his rejection head on.

“Aporri…” he asked, his face blank.  
“The muggle mother of Pandora Lovegood. She married a muggle man and, thankfully, they had Pandora after I was taken.”  
“Luna Lovegood is your niece?”  
“Our niece.”

Lucius’s posture stiffened and he looked at her intensely. His expression of horror faded. “Dobby was able to get her away from this place, too,” he said. His relief was clear in his voice. “I couldn’t figure out what it was about her … But the tempo was calming around her.”

He leaned back against the wall and stared at her for what seemed like hours before he slowly stood on his own and cupped Narcissa’s chin. “No matter my compulsions,” he said, “I am devoted only to you. And I will protect you and our son with every fiber of my being.”

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” she asked.  
“I’m saying that I choose you. That I have been wrong for far too long,” he bit out. “If you are what you say you are, then I have been wrong about everything. I choose to believe in you, because I have more faith in you than I do in the words my father and his father spouted to me. If I have to pick a need that I cannot live without, then it’s you. Because life without you is a life I want no part of. I will not – I cannot walk away from you or our son.” He looked to the chamber and held his hand out to her. “Shall we see what my ancestors have to say about this?”

“Be careful,” she said.   
He nodded. “I will not fall victim to pride as my father did.”   
Both shivered at the memories of Abraxas’s slow death, punishment bestowed by the magic of the manor. The death had been blamed on Dragon Pox and the healers did not question Lucius when he provided the information, never bothering to examine the remains of the despicable man. 

“If what you say is true,” Lucius continued as they walked hand-in-hand into the chamber, “his death may have been because of his association with _him_. If that is the case, let us hope I will be given the chance to disassociate our name from his.”

* * *

He had never understood why none of the Black daughters resided in the Black Manor. It was a stunning home, with slanting roofs and beautiful gardens. Even though the home was all but abandoned, the magic their father had infused the home with was still there. Countless magical builders and designers poured charms and spells into the walls to safeguard the home and keep it maintained. 

The magic was young, it was true. And the Lestrange manors were much darker and prestigious. In fact, he remembered, this manor was a secret to many. Hidden away in the woods, no one really knew about it. The Dark Lord did, of course. Half formed thoughts of escape floated away before they really formed and Rodolphus dusted floo powder from his cloak as he strode deeper into the manor.

His wife was waiting for him in the sitting room, staring out the window towards the woods with her arms crossed and a vacant look on her face. And while she never cared for her appearance since her stint in Azkaban, her appearance was more than unsettling tonight. He was past the point of caring why and again hoped that she would die before he did.

“Why are we meeting here?” he asked.  
“I first met the Dark Lord here, did you know?”  
He did know. Of course he knew, as he had come with his father and brother at the time. Eyeing a decanter in the corner, he walked to it and poured himself a heavy drink before sitting in the chair beside hers. If she was bringing up the past in such a nostalgic manner, he was in for a long night before she finally revealed what her next plan was. 

“Did you know that he was the one to show my father this dell?” she asked. “He took several of the Slytherins here; to the woods. There is much magic in the woods, Rodolphus. Dark and beautiful magic. I would like to show it to you.”

Bellatrix had turned to him, her eyes on him. Her face was almost pleasant as she spoke and he recalled how beautiful she had been when he’d married her. Not his first choice for a wife, but the only one available to him. “Can’t you just tell me about it? Why must we go walking in the woods in the wee hours of the night?”

“Because I have realized how to win the war,” she said.  
Rodolphus eyed her carefully. Many of her ideas were just a waste of time, garnering little notice or approval from the Dark Lord. Her real achievements had been in the pawns she had pulled into the ranks. Her cousin. Wormtail. The werewolf. And now students of Hogwarts.

He was in no mood for a wasted endeavor, but he was lonely. His marriage vows prevented him from finding comfort with another witch and if he could appease his wife, he might just find some release before the night was over. Downing his drink, he rose from his seat and headed for the door. He did not check to see if Bellatrix was coming. 

She moved ahead of him when they reached the woods and he followed her into the darkness. She walked blindly and he grudgingly cast a _lumos_ before he lost sight of her.  
“How much further?” he barked out, but she remained silent as she walked.   
“I will turn back if you don’t answer me,” he said.

They walked further on in silence, Rodolphus too afraid to actually turn around. He had no idea where the manor was anymore. His wife’s confident steps unnerved him and he realized she could abandon him here to die.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” she said. “Don’t be afraid of these trees. They are nothing compared to what lies ahead.” 

Rodolphus watched as boughs snagged at her hair, but never seemed to catch hold. Her robes were fluttering behind her as she moved quickly forward. He kept tripping on roots she never seemed to find and his cheeks stung from the countless times he’d been whipped by branches. 

And then she stopped, turning quickly to face him. He nearly gasped in horror. Her hair was wild, but nothing compared to the madness in her eyes. 

“Our fathers have been to this place,” she said. “The Dark Lord brought them here while they were students together. He enjoyed taking them places where they would rely on him to get them out,” she said. She cackled loudly with her mouth open wide. “But I don’t need him to navigate these woods!”

Rodolphus felt uneasy as his wife walked backwards. She never looked at the ground and never missed a step. He watched as she undid the button of her cloak and it fell away from her, fluttering softly in the wind as it hit the roots below. 

“The Dark Lord saw no need for the magic here, and he quickly forgot about it. Until my father built the manor. He found me in the woods – the Dark Lord. And he admired my ability to understand this place.”

She suddenly stopped and lifted her arms above her head. Rodolphus was confident that the branches of the Oak behind her lowered down and touched her fingertips, but they were gone when he blinked his eyes. 

Rodolphus licked his lips. “What have you found here? What will help us win the war?” he asked.

“There are multiple wars waging,” she said. “And I fear that I speak of one you are just a bystander for.”

She moved so very fast. He never could remember that about her until she was inches in front of him. Or, was he moving so very slowly? His face was in her hands and he couldn’t help but look at her. But who was she? Wasn’t he here with someone else?

Alice was staring at him, he was confident. His Alice, who never forgave him for standing by his family. Alice, who landed herself in Hufflepuff and married a Gryffindor fool. His beloved Alice who had a son – a boy who wasn’t his. 

And he felt so heavy, looking into her eyes. And he knew that it wasn’t really her; he had watched this happen to so many other wizards.  
“I know what you’ve done,” he said.  
The face before him wavered slightly, as if made only of air and light. “Just let me lie to you, Rodolphus. Let me be her for you and you can be him for me,” she said. 

“She never loved me, either,” he replied.  
“Of course, I love you,” she said. 

He felt her arms around his neck, her fingers upon his head. And he chose to lose himself to the moment. Whatever came next, he could not deny himself this. He could not deny himself her.

“Why do I feel so heavy?” he asked. “I feel as though I’m sinking. I can’t move my feet.”  
“You’ve overdosed, I’m afraid. I’ve given you a few potions tonight; you are so predictable with your bad habits. But, it won’t kill you,” she said, but her voice seemed so far away.  
He smiled, confident that whatever she’d given him really wouldn’t hurt him.   
“Not without killing you, too,” he said. “Pesky marriage vows.”  
“You married Bellatrix. Not me.”

He shook his head and stared at Alice. His eyes kept darting away from her face, but he forced them back. “You’re not her!” he yelled.   
“Sshh, Rodolphus. Don’t deny us this,” her heard her say.

And he kissed her, pulling his hands through her hair, ignorant of the fact it was too long. Unaware that her frame was too small, and her voice was too deep. He kissed her and undressed her. He never heard when she called him another man’s name, hearing only his name instead. And when he collapsed upon her body, spent and delirious in joy, he never remembered that it wasn’t her.

“Why did you let your wife torture me?” she asked.  
He stilled, the joy leaving him.  
“I – I couldn’t stop her,” he said.  
“You watched her torture my husband. And you never saved me when she turned on me.”  
“I was angry at you!” he yelled. “You turned your back on me! On the truth! Fighting for mudbloods and animals. You became a blood traitor!”

He tried to move away from her, but the heaviness was back.   
“You think about me all the time,” she said.   
He didn’t deny it.   
“I’ll forgive you, if you’d like,” she continued. “All you have to do is earn it.”

He felt his heart skip a beat and looked at her. His brain was sluggish and he couldn’t quite grasp what he was missing. “How do I earn it?” he asked.

“Bleed for me.”  
“What?”  
“Bleed for me and all will be forgiven. Bleed for me and you’ll never have to swallow your guilt when you think of me. Bleed for me and I’ll let you go.”  
“Bleed for you—? Die for you, you mean?”  
“I promise it won’t hurt, Rodolphus. And you owe it to me for what you let her do to me. To my son.”

He had never admitted to anyone the guilt he felt whenever he had seen Neville Longbottom. The boy would never know his mother. He would never know the beautiful woman she had been. Instead, he knew a shell of a creature.

“I don’t want to die,” he said.  
“It is the only way to be with me again. It is the only way to set me free.”

Rodolphus sobbed. His chest heaved and he recalled the face of the girl he’d known since childhood. He’d loved her all of his life. He owed her this. 

He nodded his head, accepting what he had chosen to do.  
“You have to beg me to do it,” she said. “I have to know you mean it.”

Without hesitation he did as she asked. “Please,” he said. “Please, let me bleed for you.”  
He could see the blade through his blurred vision. The heaviness consumed him; he was not sure if it was the potion or his guilt.  
“Close your eyes when you’re ready,” she said.  
And with a final look at her beautiful face, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Thank you for begging,” she said. “It was the only way this would work.”

* * *

“And you saw this when the manor was burning?” the portrait of Albus Dumbledore asked Severus Snape, as the two discussed the evenings events in the Headmasters Office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

“How many times must we go over this?” Severus asked the painting.  
“At least once more. From the beginning.”

Severus adjusted his cloak as he leaned further back in his chair, attempting to appear indifferent to the request to repeat himself for the third time. “When I arrived at the manor, it was apparent that the Dark Lord –”  
“You really must think of another title for him –”  
“—had been furious. I found Bellatrix with a creature I can only describe as a House Elf and I explored her mind. She was in remarkable condition considering the torture the Dark Lord hurled at her. Her walls are still that of an Oak Tree, which you informed me before your death may be important, and they are getting stronger. Mr. Potter and his friends had been captured. Ms. Granger was able to withstand Bellatrix’s torture and revealed nothing to her –”  
“She always was a remarkable witch –”  
“—and they managed to escape with Draco. Lucius was able to convince the Dark Lord that Draco was attempting to stop Dobby from taking Ms. Granger and was captured in the process. I am afraid that Bellatrix’s dagger may have injured Draco based on what I was able to see in her mind. I will need to review the memory later. Bellatrix and Lucius are both wandless, but her wandless magic is stronger than I had anticipated. The Dark Lord is attempting to find the Elder Wand. He also suspects that the Malfoys are hiding things from him. He asked numerous questions regarding how to alter ancient wards and I can only assume that he had hoped to make the manor his own in every way.”

Severus stopped, making sure that the portrait was still listening. He would not have been surprised to find that even the replica of the old man would send him off on this retelling simply so he could ponder another thought.  
“Luna Lovegood was one of the prisoners?” Dumbledore asked.   
“With the wand maker. I don’t know when the goblin or Mr. Thomas were taken, but at least we know that Ms. Lovegood did not suffer the dementors in Azkaban. I believe that the Malfoys may have protected her. The Dark Lord forgot about her as soon as she was captured. There is no way Narcissa would have missed what Ms. Lovegood can do. She would never have allowed either her sister or the Dark Lord access to her.”

“Tell me again how the manor fell,” Dumbledore said.  
“I was somehow able to hear the manor after Narcissa explained it to me –”  
“That is because of the blood bond you have with young Mr. Malfoy. When you became his godfather, you became a recognized family member. You have most likely been under a great deal of protection while in the manor.”

Severus recalled again the spell that Bellatrix had hurled at him earlier and the shield he had no memory of casting.   
“Forgive my interruption,” said Dumbledore. “Please continue.”

“The rhythm had changed,” Severus said, finding himself lost in his own memory. “The Dark Lord had left in search of more information on the wand. He never sleeps. And as I made my way out of the manor, I was alarmed at the change in its sound. It was as if it were urging me to hurry. And then Narcissa was in my head, telling me to get out and let Draco know at my first opportunity that she and Lucius had safeguarded the magic. And then, the manor began to shake. The pulse of the house was apparent to everyone there and there was no question that the walls were crumbling. I cannot tell you how many made it out before they fell. I know that numerous Snatchers were still in the building. Greyback escaped, as did Nott and Travers. I have no word on who else. As soon as I was past the gates, flames erupted from the fallen structure. I swear to you, I saw them form the shape of a winged dragon before the black smoke engulfed the sky.”

“You must pass her message to him immediately. If he truly is with Ms. Granger, you are safe to do so.”  
“And what if he is with the Order? What if he is being interrogated? I could sentence him to unknown retribution if they know I am in contact with him.”

“You say that he was injured by Bellatrix’s dagger while shielding Miss Granger? How likely did his blood touch her?” Dumbledore asked.

Severus knew he was missing something; that, even in death, the old man treasured his secrets. “It is probable,” he said, but considered the question even after he answered. “I must review the memory, but it is also possible that their blood coalesced.”

“It is time to bring Minerva into this, Severus. Much is happening that I had not anticipated.”

Severus found it hard to breathe for just a moment. Dumbledore had left a plan unfolding at his death. And, up until this point, it had seemed to be falling into place. Again, Severus found himself regretting having catered to the man’s whims. 

“Severus, please” the portrait said and Severus flinched. With a careless wave of his hand, the directory listing the professors of Hogwarts lit up. Another movement caused Minerva’s name to blink and the remaining names to flicker out. 

“It is possible she will ‘miss’ my summons,” Severus said.  
The portrait remained silent and the two waited together, though seemingly, alone in their own thoughts. So lost in his own head, Severus startled at the sound of the staircase moving. 

He turned to face her as she entered. Her hair was in a loose braid; the grey more striking when displayed in such a manner. But it was the end of her wand that kept his focus. She had pointed it directly at him as she looked around the room and settled her gaze on the portrait behind him.

“I believe, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, “that we are in need of your assistance.”

She looked sternly at the painting before looking directly at Severus. “I must confess that the two of you together surprises me.”  
“He is trustworthy,” said Dumbledore.   
But Minerva continued to stare only at Severus. “Let me in or watch me leave,” she said.  
And with grave reservations, Severus Snape opened his mind to her. Her infiltration was gentle, but inelegant. She was a by the book woman for this practice and he could easily keep her out of his head. Instead, he gave her everything, and pushed aside his irritation when the look of surprise on her face changed to that of sorrow. She left quickly, looking at nothing else but what she needed. 

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” she said, her voice so stern that even Severus sat up straighter. “You are the most conceited and egotistical wizard I have ever known! If you’d only been brave enough to trust someone other than yourself –”  
“Minerva,” Dumbledore interrupted, “there was another prophesy.”  
“Oh, no, you are not wasting our time on this! Not when children are out fighting wars based on allusions and fairytales!”

“It involves them. At least, I am certain, it pertains to Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy,” he said.  
“And what boogey man?” she asked, her irritation apparent.  
“I have my suspicions –” he began, but Severus and Minerva had both had enough. As if of the same mind, the two silenced the portrait before them. 

“I think it may be Bellatrix,” Severus said as the portrait’s mouth snapped shut.   
“What are you willing to share with me?” she asked him.  
Severus looked over to the portrait, taking in the blue eyes that held no anger or resentment. “Everything,” he said. “The living must move us forward.” 

Minerva McGonagall nodded before turning to the portrait. “And you?” she asked. “Are you ready to let go of your secrets?”

The movement was slow, but clear. Albus Dumbledore’s portrait nodded his head. And Severus Snape felt, for the first time he could ever recall, as if his burden had become less.


	23. Breaking Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of possible rape. accusations of suicide, murder and assault. self harm.

They had discussed how dangerous this would be, but Ginny’s confidence in the secret passage to Honeydukes’ cellar had spurred Theo, Daphne and Pansy on. They had to get out of the castle and try to find out the truth regarding Draco and the Gryffindor Trio. Rumors were sailing around Hogwarts that the Malfoys were all dead, buried in the rubble of their illustrious home. Theo had gone mad with worry when Draco had not responded to any of his messages; he refused to believe that his friend was gone. His father had been unable to provide any news of Draco, only that his fate had been sealed with Potter’s, and confirming that the Boy Who Lived had, indeed, been captured at the time.

“If only I hadn’t hidden away at Hogwarts and gone with him,” Theo whispered to Daphne beside him. “I knew that it was dangerous for him to go!” he continued, sharply.  
“Then you’d be in the same predicament that he’s in, if not a worse one,” Daphne said.  
“What’s worse than death?” he asked.  
“Be quiet!” she hissed. “I can’t hear them, and we need to be ready to help her if necessary.”

Theo and Daphne were hidden on the other side of the passage under the statue of the hump-backed witch, but Pansy was inside Hogwarts having been found by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Theo swallowed hard and bit his tongue. Any interaction with the Inquisitorial Squad could be disastrous, but Pansy with those two carried its own kind of danger. And she would never be in this situation if he had just stayed with Draco.

Crabbe and Goyle held a grudge against all of the Slytherin girls and they weren’t afraid to seek retribution anymore. Having replaced Draco with McLaggen, their behavior had changed from thoughtless lackies to angry bulls. Tracy Davis had been their last victim; a half-blood witch in Slytherin was an easy and acceptable target. She had been killed, an escalation from their previous attacks, but her death had been blamed on suicide. All within the castle, however, took it as an unproven fact that she had been pushed off the moving staircase. The portraits that had hung there had been burned and the letter she’d supposedly left had been misplaced by the Carrows.

Theo and Daphne had broken into the hospital wing to see her and verify she was actually dead, not just being taken away to a different, unpromising end. Her broken body could not hide the damage she had endured. Her robes had been torn and there were marks on her wrists. Theo refused to think on the other clues to what else she had suffered. 

He would never forget the way the Headmaster, Snape, had reacted when he had seen her abused figure on the bed. Snape had thought he was alone and wept for his student, cursing the perpetrators, before shrouding his face behind his blank stare once more and “rewarding” Crabbe and Goyle with a room of their own, far away from the rest of the students. It wasn’t long before all of the Inquisitorial Squad had been removed from the dorms and placed in their own section of the castle, distracted from their duties by all of the amenities offered. 

Theo, Daphne and Pansy had agreed immediately that Snape was protecting the students, and after hearing of his reaction to Tracy’s murder, Neville and Ginny were eventually persuaded. With little reservation, they agreed to protect the Headmaster’s secrets and try to see how he might actually be keeping them all safe with the decisions he made.

Pansy’s situation on the other side of the passage was unsafe. Her only blessing was that she had lied and said she was on her way to the Headmaster. The two hulking men were still gullible, so perhaps she could evade them. But Theo was not prepared to take that risk and Ginny would just have to kill him for giving away the secret passage. 

“Help me explain to Ginny?” he asked Daphne.  
“She’ll understand this,” Daphne answered as she quietly cut in front of him and made her way into Hogwarts.   
Theo rushed to keep up with her, and his quick movements did not escape attention.

“Where did you come from?” yelled Goyle, surprised by Daphne and Theo’s sudden appearance.  
“Are you so blind you didn’t see us in that nook over there?” Theo scoffed. “Everything all right, Pans?” he asked.  
“She’s fine,” snarled Crabbe. “Why don’t you two love birds get lost?”

“Lovebirds?” asked a new voice. “Oh, how Astoria would just love to hear that.”  
Padma Patil was moving quickly towards them, her robes barely moving as though she were floating beneath their fabric. As she approached, she lifted her hand to touch one of the pins she wore on the ribbon around her pointed hat.  
It was enchanted with a version of the Protean Charm; a trick the Patil twins had learned from Hermione and that Bellatrix Lestrange had been quite happy to assist them with.  
“Are you out to break your sister’s heart, Daphne? Stealing her future husband?” Padma asked.  
“There is no betrothal,” Theo snapped.   
“We will be repopulating with purebloods after the war, my pets. Those loyal to the Dark Lord and to Bellatrix will be honored with choosing their partners. Join now and try to beat Astoria in the ranks in order to pick before she does.”

“What of your betrothed?” asked Daphne. “Have you heard news of Draco?”  
Theo desperately wanted to argue that betrothal, too, but any chance for news on Draco was worth more than a verbal spar with Bellatrix’s acolyte. 

Padma’s red lips tightened into a condescending smile. “I could _Crucio_ you here and no one would help you. You mock me and think I won’t realize it? Draco lives. And Bellatrix, as his living guardian, is formalizing the betrothal.”  
“Without his manor, though,” came Parvati’s voice, “what is he really worth? And you know nothing of his condition. Why would the Order keep him alive?”  
“He lives!” Padma cried.

Parvati approached the small group, her movement as seamless as her sister’s had been. And walking slowly behind her was Astoria; her eyes focused solely on the little space between Theo and her sister before turning quickly on Pansy. Astoria was wearing a new hat, similar to that of the Patil twins, though not as tall. 

Disappointment settled in Theo’s chest, as there was no question anymore that she was no longer someone they could hope to trust. He looked to Daphne, but she was expressionless. 

“We know nothing of any of the Malfoys, Padma. Only that Draco was taken by the prisoners who escaped,” Parvati said lazily. So lazily, in fact, that Theo barely caught the way she quickly looked at them, as if to make sure they heard what she had said.

Padma spun quickly, her wand in her sister’s face. “Watch your tongue, you reckless Gryffindor!”  
“They were friends with the oafs,” Astoria said, nodding her head towards Crabbe and Goyle, ignorant of their hard stares. “And just like them, they’re too stupid to put any of this together. Not without Draco or Blaise to help them out.”

“You call your sister stupid?” asked Pansy. “She has been devoted to you, always.”  
“Yet, she stands here with him. I see no devotion.”  
“Why are you so obsessed with this, of all things?” Theo asked. “I don’t understand. We are in the middle of a war, and you focus on school yard crushes!”  
“As if you have any room to talk,” laughed Padma. “Salivating behind Parkinson and snogging in shadows with Astoria’s sister. Your hypocrisy bores me. Your lack of dedication infuriates me! Neither a Death Eater or a member of the squadron, why should we care about you?”

With a silent flick of her wrist, she robbed him of his voice. Her sister, quickly at her side, joined her as they both cast another spell in an unfamiliar language. Vines erupted from their wands and bound Theo. Before Pansy or Daphne could react, they too were bound. 

“Astoria,” Padma asked. “Shall we let Crabbe and Goyle take care of the ladies, and leave Theo to you?”

Astoria walked to Daphne and Pansy, circling their joined forms. She leaned in to Pansy and whispered in her ear. Theo couldn’t make out the words, but watched as Pansy flinched and tears fell down her cheeks. Pansy turned away from Astoria, causing the other girl to laugh. Without a second glance at Pansy, Astoria turned to her sister.   
“You are the worst kind of betrayer,” she said.   
“Astoria, he doesn’t see me like that. We weren’t snogging.”  
“Bellatrix has shown us many interesting spells. There has been one I have been curious to try,” said Astoria.

Behind them, the Patil twins laughed. “You must leave something for Vincent and Gregory. They were the ones to find them,” said Padma.  
“They can have Pansy. It was her they found. And she could use a lesson on what’s expected of a pureblood witch,” Astoria said before turning back to Daphne.

Theo pushed between Pansy and their foes while Astoria pointed her wand at Daphne.   
“Fás Maol!” Astoria said.   
A tiny noise sounded before Crabbe and Goyle both burst into laughter.   
Theo could see that the Patil sisters were amused, but their red lips barely moved as they looked at Daphne. But, he couldn’t look. He wouldn’t take his eyes off of the four squad members.

“No!” Daphne screamed. “No! No! Why? Why, Astoria? How could you do this?” she cried out, each word less intelligible than the last, before all that could be heard were her sobs.  
“You spoiled, little brat!” Pansy yelled. “She’s still a better witch than you – a better catch for any wizard!”  
“But it’s my fanny you want,” said Astoria. Theo didn’t think to hide his shock at Astoria’s words.

“Enough!” shouted Parvati, silencing both Astoria and Pansy in a single swoosh of her wand. “I’m bored of this, Padma. Shall we call the Headmaster?”  
“Of course, not,” said Padma. “Bellatrix has made it perfectly clear to make things as difficult as possible for him.”  
“So why not waste his time with them?” asked Parvati.

Her sister laughed, but before she could reply, the corridor was filled with the echoing laughter of Peeves’ cackle. The poltergeist swooped down among the group and lifted a straw to his face. With a malicious look at Padma, he blew, and covered her face with an impossible amount of spit balls. 

Again, Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter while Astoria ran screaming from the corridor, blocking her face and hair with her hands. Padma pulled her wand at the poltergeist while Theo felt the vines around him fall. On a hunch, he looked to see that Parvati was quickly moving her wand away from him and towards Peeves.

Theo brandished his wand and turned to Pansy, but a _Finite Incantatem_ did nothing to her bindings. Hurriedly, placing his arms around her and Daphne’s shoulders, he steered them away from the hunch-backed witch and out of the corridor. He would try a cutting charm when they were safely away from this place.

They ran quickly, their movements hindered by the bindings on the girls but not impossible. Theo wasn’t sure where to go. The dungeons were no longer safe to them, but had Neville or Ginny made any progress in making them welcome in their hide-away? As if thinking the same thoughts, Pansy and Daphne turned towards the library. It would do for now and they knew how to access the hidden space there.

Just as they had reached the library door, however, it swung open forcefully, nearly hitting Theo in the face. Neville Longbottom reared back, surprised by their appearance, before quickly realizing their plight and ushering them into the library. 

“No one else is in the library,” he said. His voice was quiet, as if an instinct to whisper in the space. “What happened – were you able to get any news? Do you know anything about Harry and Malfoy? –” His eyes grew wide as he looked at Daphne. “What happened to you?”

Theo looked at Daphne from the corner of his eye and tried not to cringe. He could only hope that there was a counter-charm; the spell was unknown to him and, while resulting in the same condition, had not been the familiar _Decalvo_. Her beautiful, trademark, golden hair was gone. He turned to fully look at her and, fleetingly, acknowledged she looked good without any hair, but doubted she would appreciate the thought.

As they continued to make their way to the hidden nook, Neville seemed to have moved passed her baldness and was looking intently at the vines that secured both her and Pansy. “Those’re poisonous,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t try to cut them off. They’ll release an acid that’s near impossible to control.”

“Do you know how to get them off?” asked Pansy.  
Neville only nodded. “I need to find the roots, but I don’t have much time. Theo help me look. They’re very small and look like fine grey threads.”  
“What if there aren’t any roots?” Theo asked, relieved his voice, like Pansy’s, was working again.   
“Then the vines’ll dry out eventually.”  
“You’re a wizard, right? You do know how magic works?” Pansy bit out. 

Neville was used to her sharp tongue and simply ignored her. “I take it your situation has changed? Do you want to stay here or join us?”  
“Is it safe to join you?” Theo asked.  
Neville nodded again. “Ginny can be really convincing.”

Theo felt his relief they wouldn’t have to be alone. He knew the magic Bellatrix was capable of. Bellatrix had taunted Draco that he didn’t have the right “temperament” to truly master the daunting and unpredictable spells that acted like snakelike roots and branches. It looked, however, that the Patil twins did.

“Potter is likely alive.” Daphne said. “Prisoners escaped, taking Draco with them. Parvati made sure we heard that much.” Her voice was strained, exhausted from her earlier sobbing. “If she can be trusted,” she added.  
“She’s the one who unbound me,” Theo said. 

“This is taking too long!” Neville exclaimed. “Just find the roots and soak them in something acidic for a few minutes. Then rip them out of the vines. The vines should just fall away, then – I have to go, I’m sorry!” Neville said. He was already turning away from them and hurrying out of the hidden space.  
Theo, alarmed by Neville’s behavior, took in how pale he was. The young man was practically shaking. 

“What’s happened?” Theo asked quickly causing both Daphne and Pansy to look at Neville, too.  
“My parents,” he said, having stopped to look back at Theo. “I don’t know! There’s urgent news on my parents. Professor McGonagall sent Nearly Headless Nick to find me when she couldn’t...”  
“Go,” said Pansy. 

Neville needed no more convincing and sprinted from the library.

* * *

Harry resented her questions. If it had been anyone other than Luna, he may very well have told them to sod off and let him move forward on his mission. But it was Luna and he couldn’t deny that he trusted her ability to make him see things more clearly. And he was the one who had intruded Hermione and Malfoy’s sick room, demanding answers himself from the girl in front of him. He avoided looking at Hermione and Malfoy sitting so closely together, trying to ignore how much it didn’t bother him. 

“I’m not comfortable talking about this with everyone in the room. Just you,” Harry said to Luna. “Hermione and Ron can stay, as they are a part of this,” he continued. He felt relief that neither Fleur or Bill looked insulted by his words. He watched Luna, in the yellow dress she had borrowed from Fleur, as he spoke and anticipated she would argue. She had been the least harmed in Malfoy Manor and was already almost back to her usual strength. But she had changed and he could see that she was no longer just comfortable with who she was. No, he could see that she understood herself now, too. 

“Everyone in this room is a part of what’s happening now and what’s coming,” Luna said. Harry tried not to scoff. She was right, but he had promised Dumbledore only to share this with Hermione and Ron; he was already making an exception by telling her anything.  
“I wouldn’t trust me, either,” said Draco. “I don’t want to trust him,” he continued, nodding his head towards Harry. “We’ve never been friends and I don’t see that changing for anything, Luna. Not even for you,” he added.  
“Pick a girl, Malfoy. You don’t get them all,” said Harry heatedly.

Draco smirked automatically at Harry’s agitation. “I thought you didn’t want a girlfriend in the way of what you’re doing? Or, was that just a line to feed Ginny while you went chasing Luna’s skirts?”  
“Hey!” yelled Ron. “What do you know about my sister?”  
“That she’d be smart to get over Potter here and move on with a finer class of wizard,” Draco said.  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked. “More pureblood supremacy?”

Draco paled visibly. “No, no that isn’t what I meant.” Draco looked over at Hermione, lifting his injured hand towards her before letting it fall heavily to his lap instead. “I swear,” he said to her. “That wasn’t my intention.”  
Hermione was looking at him carefully, her face impossible to read. “What did you mean? You’re, as usual, picking a fight with Harry,” she said. Her tone was stern, but void of any anger.  
“They’re picking fights with each other,” said Luna. “It’s their way.”  
“Their way?” asked Fleur.  
“They were told they couldn’t be friends so instead of respecting each other, they just fight each other,” Luna answered.  
“Why would I respect a bigot like Malfoy?” Harry said.   
Draco snorted and pulled away from his close proximity to Hermione, getting back under his covers. “I don’t feel well. Go have your discussions somewhere else. Can’t you see I’m injured? I need rest before I figure out how to help my parents since you lot kidnapped me.”

“Kidnapped you!” scoffed Harry. “You threw yourself at Hermione and forced Dobby to take you with us!”  
“You should have left me!” Draco shouted. “I’m stuck here with Gryffindors and my parents are there, alone, with him and my aunt! And she is recruiting at Hogwarts! I have things to finish that I can’t do if I’m stuck here with you! I was only blocking Granger from my aunt, you didn’t have to disarm me or take me with you.”  
“He saved me, Harry!” Hermione said. She looked at Draco’s arm as she settled back on her own bed. “I’d probably have a dagger in my chest if he hadn’t done that. And, of course Dobby had to take you—" she directed at Draco. “Your mother begged us to take you,” she said furiously as she angrily adjusted the blankets around herself before crossing her arms.

“And if Dobby hadn’t taken you both, you’d be dead at the hand of Moldywart.” added Ron, blandly.

Looks of anger quickly turned to sniggers as the group rolled the new name around in their heads.

“You all are ridiculous,” said Bill while smiling appreciatively at his brother. “We all need to trust each other. It’s time to get a few things out in the open. Instead of starting with swords and prophesies and secret missions, let’s start with grudges.” Bill remained sitting in the chair by the window that he’d claimed when discussing the blood curse on Hermione and Draco. He leaned forward now, pulling his long red hair from his face and exposing the gruesome scars on his face and neck. 

“I was sure he’d killed you,” said Draco quietly as he stared at the scars. “I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t supposed to be there and I saw him lunging for Granger. He wasn’t supposed to be there!” he said.  
“Explain to me why you let them in to the castle,” said Bill. “I need to know what made you do that.”

Harry watched as Malfoy’s eyes seemed to shine. They looked like shattered glass on water and Malfoy clenched his jaw before shaking his head and rubbing his eyes with his uninjured hand.

“My aunt convinced me that I could restore my family if I provided the Dark Lord with Potter. I had hoped that getting them into the castle would be enough for the Dark Lord to break my father out of prison, and perhaps, not focus on us anymore. I wanted him and the Death Eaters out of our home; away from my mother. If our name was restored, I believed they would stop disrespecting her and our home.”  
“You offered Harry up to save your house?” asked Hermione.  
“Partly,” he said, not looking at her. “I won’t lie to you, the house is sacred to us. Mainly, though, I did it to protect my family. I deliberately chose to ignore what giving them access to Potter meant. It’s inevitable anyway. We all know it comes down to those two. And then it would be over!” He turned to the group, not really looking at anyone. “Potter can wave his charmed life in front of the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord will trip all over himself and stab himself with his wand and we can all exclaim how amazing Potter is while shooting off magical fireworks over muggle England and being surprised by how many people have to be obliviated after,” he said, rushing his words in a single breath.

“Charmed life?” Harry snorted. “You believe that?”  
“Aside from that bit, can you really blame him for seeing it that way?” asked Ron. “We’re best friends and I saw some of it that way when I got too jealous.”  
“You’re defending him?” Harry asked.  
“I suppose I am. When it makes sense, I will, unless he proves himself to be the same old Malfoy.”

“You’re joking,” said Draco. “What would possess you to do that?” But he seemed to realize and looked over at Bill. “No. No, my saving him was simply a lucky accident from shielding Granger. You owe me nothing but rage. I –” Draco stopped and looked over at Fleur. “I’m so sorry,” he said to her. “I let that werewolf into the castle and he almost took everything from you.”

“Your shield was large enough for both of them,” said Luna. “It was centered to include them both.” Harry watched as Luna seemed to connect with Malfoy, her eyes pulling his focus.   
“Because he jumped in front of her like I should have done! Instead I ran to kill Dumbledore,” Draco yelled. “And I couldn’t even do that. The Dark Lord threatened to kill me; to murder my mother if I didn’t comply. And I couldn’t do it!”

Hermione reached across the beds and once again took his hand in hers. “Harry told us you were going to take Dumbledore up on his offer – that it seemed you would take protection from the Order?”  
“How could he even know that?” Malfoy asked, looking at Harry.  
“He was there – invisible… And then you told us when the ministry was about to fall.”

Bill looked up sharply, surprised by this. “You knew? Why didn’t you warn us?” he asked.   
“It was literally seconds before Shackelbolt told us,” said Ron.  
“I don’t care about the Order. I don’t care about the Death Eaters. I care about my family,” said Malfoy.  
“Then why would you warn us?” Harry asked. “Dobby said he was to bring the message to me if he couldn’t find Hermione.”  
“Didn’t you just hear me?” Malfoy yelled. “I want this to be over. And you’re my only shot!”  
“That must bug the hell out of you,” said Ron.   
Draco smirked before hiding it behind a frown. 

“We need to know if we can still trust ‘Ermione and Draco,” Fleur said. “What does thees curse mean?”  
“Curse?” Ron asked. “Is that why her hair is turning white like Mrs. Malfoy’s?”  
Bill nodded his head. “I think the shield his parents placed on him prevents the curse from effecting him at all. I don’t think that the white hair has to do with the curse, but with the counter-spell.”  
“Why does a shield placed on Draco help Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Bloody hell,” said Ron, looking at the two in their beds. “It was the blood. Are you two married?”  
“No!” Hermione and Draco shouted together.  
“No,” Hermione said again, more calmly. “We are not married. But, I am, apparently, now a ward of the Malfoy estate.”  
“How’s that work?” asked Ron.

“I believe we were actually clearing grudges before addressing the sword,” said Luna lightly. But her attention shifted towards the bedroom window and a Patronus of a cat appeared in front of the paned glass.   
In the voice of Professor McGonagall the silvery cat spoke. “Conaltradh.”

Hermione sat up straight. “Where’s my wand?” she asked. The hesitancy in her question hinted to the fear she had of the answer.  
“You may use mine,” Fleur said, handing hers to Hermione. Hermione bit her lip and nodded her thanks.  
“What did McGonagall say?” asked Ron.   
“It sounded like Gaelic?” Bill said, though it was clearly a question.

With only a slight hesitation, Hermione cast her Patronus charm. “Bereit,” she said before her otter scampered away.  
“And that was German,” said Bill.  
“Yes. If I had answered in Scots Gaelic, she would know that I was under duress.”  
“To reply in the same language would be less obvious,” said Malfoy. “How do you know she isn’t under duress, though? The Death Eaters would guess there’s a safe word.”  
“She would have sent her request in German.”

The tabby cat returned. “Ms. Granger, Malfoy Manor has fallen.”  
Harry looked quick over to Malfoy, but he was staring at the tabby.   
“It collapsed and ignited. A reliable source says that a dragon rose from the debris before it was engulfed in smoke,” McGonagall’s voice continued.   
Malfoy seemed to relax, a tension Harry hadn’t realized was there seeming to have faded from his shoulders.  
“I truly hope that Mr. Malfoy is with you,” continued the Patronus. “I have an urgent message received from his mother before the manor was destroyed. The magic has been safeguarded. I repeat, the magic has been safeguarded.”  
Harry watched as Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bedrest. Having known Malfoy as long as he had, he knew the other boy was plotting something.  
“Ms. Granger, please also pass my message to Mr. Potter. He must find Luna Lovegood and ask her about the next prophesy. The signs are becoming clear.”

Harry was surprised at the last bit and looked sharply at the blonde girl. She was already looking at him, a knowing look on her face and he realized he would get nothing from her until he did things her way. He didn’t know if he should smile or swear. 

“I should reply,” said Hermione. “Should I let Professor McGonagall know we’re all together?” she asked Harry.  
“You trust it’s safe?” he asked.  
Hermione nodded her head and Harry noticed she was still holding Malfoy’s hand. 

Harry just nodded his head, too, unable to take his eyes off of their joined hands. He didn’t understand what was happening with them. His initial thought was that Malfoy was taking advantage of Hermione, but the conversations he’d had with Hermione regarding Malfoy’s behavior with her left him at a loss. 

“Do you two message each other often?” Bill asked after Hermione had sent her message. Hermione shook her head. “What was so important about this that should would risk sending it to you, then?” he asked the room.

“You don’t look very concerned about what’s happened,” Harry said to Malfoy.  
Malfoy just shrugged his shoulders. “No reason to be. My parents escaped.”  
“Escaped?” asked Bill.  
“I thought you said the house was sacred to you,” Harry said, grasping onto his dislike of Malfoy. “It was worth handing me over to _him_ in order to save it.”  
“Once again, Potter, you miss the point,” Malfoy snarled. “I gave the Death Eaters access to you. Notice that you weren’t really captured? I didn’t give you to them. But I did do something much worse. I gave them the school! My cowardice resulted in a werewolf in the school. A monster that doesn’t’ care about house loyalties or blood status. And I did it, selfishly, to save my family. The manor was just a bonus.”

Malfoy glared at Harry for a moment more before turning to Bill. “The dragon signals that my parents set off a particular ward. It is highly unlikely, though possible, that they were hurt in the process.” 

“What about everyone else in the manor?” asked Hermione.   
Malfoy looked at her carefully before turning to Harry. “Would you mind calling for Dobby?” he asked.  
Harry suddenly recognized Hermione’s actual question and was impressed that Malfoy had understood immediately. It bothered Harry how many people seemed to trust his rival. Even McGonagall seemed to expect that he would be with them.

“It looks like we’re stuck with you, now,” Ron said to Malfoy. “Since you don’t have a reason to go back to your manor.”  
“That was just an errand. There is much in motion at Hogwarts,” he replied.

“That Neville, Theo and the rest can continue without you,” said Luna. “Professor McGonagall has told Harry to talk to me about the next prophesy. He needs to accept that we are going to help him with the first prophesy. So why don’t we hear what Dobby has to say and move forward?”

Dobby had entered the room. When Harry nodded towards Malfoy, Dobby moved to quietly speak with the blonde young man. Harry was surprised at how tentative Malfoy was talking to the little elf. With rapid head bobbing, Dobby turned to Hermione.

“The House Elves is fine. They be safe, I promise,” he said to her.  
“How do you know?” asked Hermione.   
“Old magic, Miss. Very old magic.”

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say more, but Luna interrupted her. “Your and Malfoy’s lines are in turmoil still. You are going to pass out soon. We need to resolve something for Harry before you do.”  
“Pass out?... What?” asked Hermine.

“An Unbreakable Vow,” said Harry. “I need an Unbreakable Vow.”  
“From who?” asked Fleur.  
“Just me,” said Malfoy confidently as he stared at Harry. 

“Have I mentioned that you all are ridiculous?” said Bill. “There are other ways, Harry.”  
“I’ll do it,” said Malfoy.   
“Will you act as Bonder?” Harry asked Bill before Malfoy could change his mind.  
“No,” Malfoy said. “No, I want it to be Luna.”

“I will do it,” Luna said. “When you both wake up.”  
“What?” Malfoy asked as Hermione slumped back in her bed, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.   
Harry watched as Malfoy seemed to be struggling with his eyes before they rolled back in his head and, he too, passed out.

With a sharp intake of breath, Dobby raced to the doorway and put his hand in the frame preparing to slam the door on his fingers. But Harry, who was used to these episodes from the elf, grabbed the door before the elf could do any damage.

“Dobby!” Harry yelled. “Stop!”  
Fleur rushed forward and seized Dobby, embracing him tightly to her chest and locking his arms to his sides. “What is wrong, Dobby?” she asked.  
“The enchantment binding him to the Malfoy’s was not relinquished willingly,” Bill said as he stood over Fleur. “It would cause him to still instinctually want to harm himself if he were to disobey a command he’d had under his servitude to them.”  
“Malfoy doesn’t consider you his elf, Dobby. He even asked me to call for you.”  
“Master Malfoy was able to let Dobby in, Harry Potter, sir. He let Dobby in to rescue you.”

Harry was dumbfounded. Looking over to Malfoy, he stared blankly at his habitual rival. “He let you get us out of there?”  
“No,” said Dobby. “Master Lucius did.”  
“Lucius? Why would he let you in?” Harry asked, but quickly realized that the Malfoys had wanted Draco out. “What command did you disobey, Dobby?” he asked.

“He’s connected to her,” Dobby wailed. “They is bonded!”  
“You already knew that!” Harry said. “You told us she’s a ward.”  
But Dobby was inconsolable in his sobs. Fleur began to rock him back and forth and the little elf buried his face in her embrace. Fleur looked to Bill and Harry had no doubt they were having a silent conversation with their eyes.   
“’Arry, Dobby ‘as spoken of another elf… Winky?” Fleur said to Harry. “Per’aps a friend would ‘elp him open up?”

Harry shook his head. “Winky is a very unhappy House Elf. She didn’t want to become a free elf and often criticizes Dobby’s views. I don’t even know how we’d get her here, anyways.”  
“What about Kreacher?” Ron asked. “You’d told him to go to Hogwarts if we didn’t come back. Maybe he could get her for us?”  
“You just miss his pot roast,” Harry said distractedly as he watched Dobby tremble in Fleur’s arms. “I’m missing something,” he said to her. “Why is he so upset?”  
“If ‘e trusts Winky, per’aps she can ‘elp us understand,” Fleur said.

Harry felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Luna. “This is the time we come together, Harry. No more secrets. No more grudges. No more fighting alone.”

Harry looked, again, to Malfoy and saw that his and Hermione’s hands were still fixed together. The bandage on Hermione’s arm was so white against her pale skin. She’d endured so much for Harry; for the Wizarding World. He turned and watched Dobby’s body shudder as the elf seemed to have fallen into a fitful sleep in Fleur’s arms. And then he looked to Ron who stood waiting for Harry’s next move. It was obvious where another Horcrux could be found and, thanks to Ron, they had the means to destroy it. And if he could convince the goblin to help them… But, what if he could obtain the wand…

“Harry,” Luna said.   
He looked up to her. Her blue eyes were gently surveying him, looking into him, and he sighed. She smelled almost like the burrow, but tangier, and he realized the tangy aroma was what he’d been missing whenever he had been seeking the familiar smell from Ginny. And then he looked over to Bill. Bill Weasley, whom he had known for years and could trust with his life. Bill, who was a Curse Breaker at Gringotts Bank…

A soft moan escaped Hermione’s throat as she slept and he looked again at her and Draco’s joined hands. He watched as Malfoy’s hand squeezed hers, as if reassuring her as they slept. Dobby had said they were bonded – what could that mean? Fear gripped Harry and he made his decision.

“Kreacher!” Harry called out.  
An angry pop sounded in the room and the unsteady, aged Housel Elf stood before them.   
“Master has summoned me,” Kreacher said, as his eyes surveyed the room and landed steadily on two hands clasped together.

* * *

The following morning was a grey day. Clouds obscured the sun and there was a chill in the air that settled even inside the cottage. Ron and Hermione shared the couch. She was under a blanket with her feet on the seat cushion and she’d shoved her toes under Ron’s thigh to keep them warm. 

“What’s with the butterbeer corks? I can’t remember,” Ron asked Luna who was sitting on the floor in front of the overstuffed chair across from them.   
“They keep Nargles away,” Luna replied as she lined several of the corks on the floor in front of her.  
“Then why would Harry wear a necklace with one on it?” Ron said. 

Luna’s lips broke into a small smile and she looked up at Ron. “He wears it?” she asked.  
Ron couldn’t help but smile back at her delighted expression. He found himself charmed by her demeanor and he nodded his head, forgetting his question.  
Hermione was smiling beside him. “Rolling the cork replaced rolling the locket,” she said to Luna and the two girls smiled together.

“Where is Harry, anyway?” Hermione asked.  
Ron avoided looking at the girls and Luna’s smile faded. “I have an idea,” Luna said. “I think I’ll go help Fleur and Dobby with their patients and see if I come across him along the way.”

Luna rose gracefully from her place on the floor and made her way towards Griphooks’s room.   
“Aren’t they with Ollivander?” Ron asked Hermione. “And where did all the butter beer corks end up? She couldn’t have picked them up so fast.”

Hermione just shook her head and laughed, burrowing her feet further under Ron’s thigh. “Do you think he’ll want to leave right away?”  
Ron looked at her. “Who?” he asked, finding he wasn’t sure if she meant Harry or Malfoy.  
“Harry, of course,” she said. “Moldywart,” she paused before she continued, a devilish smile on her face quickly replaced with lines of worry. “- knows that we were there. If he knows how much she revealed in her questions –”  
“Her torture,” Ron bit out.  
“—then he’ll likely move it.”  
“I don’t think he’ll move it,’ said Ron. “It would be impossible to get into a vault that isn’t our own.”

They sat quietly for a moment, but Ron found he was uncomfortable with the lack of sound. “Will Malfoy want to help?” he asked.  
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I like him,” she said suddenly and stared at Ron. “I don’t know how much, but I like Draco and I’m not upset he’s here.” Her words were uttered as a confession and Ron felt his chest tighten.

“He was horrible to you,” he murmured. “He was horrible to all of us.”  
Hermione looked to the stairs that led to the room she shared with Draco and nodded her head. “He was, it’s true.”  
Ron quickly pulled Hermione’s feet out from under his legs and turned to face her. “Our first year I was a total prat to you. But you and I have been through so much since then. And I have learned to trust your opinions about a lot of stuff… You’ve already told me enough things about him that makes me think he might not be as bad as he used to be, but Hermione, he is really hard to like. So, you are going to have to settle with being alone with liking him for now. Because I think you, and maybe Luna because she likes everyone, are the only ones in this house who can stand him.”

“You trust me?” she asked.  
“Of course,” he said, before he registered the seriousness in her tone. He looked at her again. “Of course, I trust you. Why would you think I didn’t?”  
Hermione opened her mouth before snapping it shut. Ron watched as she played with the blanket over her lap before she tried again. “It hurt that you left us. It hurt when you picked Lavender over me, but I could move past that because you probably didn’t get the minute signals I was sending, with my thinking they were much more impressive than they were. I couldn’t move past you leaving Harry and me, though. We all knew it was going to be horrible and hard. It was always the three of us and you just left us, like you didn’t trust us to figure it out.” 

Her voice was quiet and straightforward and Ron found that he wished she sounded angry. He could battle anger for anger. “Harry told me to leave,” he said, struggling to keep the defensiveness from his voice.  
She nodded her head. “And he and I have talked our actions through. You were goading him and looking for a fight. We all had to wear the horcrux. We all were angry and starved and spent.”

Ron stood from the couch and sat on the chair, his head in his hands as he stared at the ground. “So, you don’t trust me. You trust Malfoy, but you don’t trust me.”  
“I trust you to always come back,” she said. 

He felt momentarily relieved by her words until he registered what she was really saying. “But you also trust I will always leave first?”  
He looked up at her and was irritated by the tears on her face. How dare she cry when she was abusing him with her superior view of things. No wonder she liked Malfoy. A conceited attraction.

“You get so mad at me for not really seeing you, but you never see me at all, do you?” he asked her. “I’m not your kind of smart, but I’m not an idiot. I don’t have your ability to rationalize everything, but I can see the bigger picture. I have a better ability to see the long run than you do. And that’s why I got together with Lavender. I wasn’t going to test out dating on one of my best friends because if it went wrong, it could ruin everything.”  
He watched as her eyes widened briefly and he wanted to snort at her. Instead, he looked at the dark circles under her eyes and the bandage on her arm and swallowed his mockery. She had come a long way since their first year and so had he.   
“My words that night – they weren’t the best, but they weren’t wrong. Your parents don’t even know about you right now. They don’t know to worry and you have them hidden away and as safe as they can be. Your worry was very different than mine. And, it sucks. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. But Harry doesn’t have any family. And even the worthless relatives he was forced to live with were sorted. I was going crazy thinking about what could be happening to Ginny with the Carrows. I wanted to see my mum and make sure she was okay. I was angry and starved and spent – isn’t that what you said? But I had a life outside our mission that added to my fear and you two didn’t understand that at all.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She stared at him openly and he knew she finally understood. “I was so caught up in my own hurt I – I was wrong, Ron.”  
“I’m sorry I left,” he answered. “And I was really mean to you when I was dating Lavender. I shouldn’t have been making fun of you. It’s just… I dated Lavender to make someone else jealous, Hermione. She was my first girlfriend, but not my first kiss. I was hurt and confused and I’m sorry, too.”  
“What? Who?” Hermione asked, baffled. Then she smiled. “Do tell, Ronald Weasley,” but she hesitated at his strained expression. “Unless, you don’t want to?”

Ron shook his head and chuckled. “It’s dumb, really. I got jealous when I found out the person I kissed was kissing someone else. I thought it meant something, but I guess it was just one-sided. So, I didn’t know what I wanted and Lavender made it really obvious she wanted me. And I just went along for the ride.”  
“It’s behind us now,” Hermione said. “I adore you, Ron. You and Harry are my best friends. And while I have never quite seen you as a brother like I do him, I think you were right not to want us messing things up by dating each other.”

“We could always snog to make sure,” he said with a laugh that quickly turned into a chortle at her startled expression.   
He rose from his seat and snatched the blanket off of her. “I’m joking. You may not know how much you like him, but I imagine if you had to kiss a boy right now, it wouldn’t be me.”

Taking her hands, he pulled her up from the couch and smirked at her confused face. “Go get some rest, Hermione. We have a horcrux to steal and you’ll need to be in working order before we can start again.”  
“Ron,” she said, not letting go of his hands. “I really am sorry I was being so judgmental.”  
“I know,” he said.   
“You’ve changed so much so fast,” she said. “But you’re so very much the same, too.”  
“I’ve had to accept some things, let go of some things and prepare for some things. Holding onto my resentment was just getting in the way.”

“You’ve never been more handsome,” she said, her voice low as she placed her hand on his chest. He almost fell for her bluff until he saw the smile she failed to hide and the mischievous look in her eye.  
“To bed with you, you witch! Don’t tempt me with your charms!” he said and felt lighter as he watched her laugh her way up the stairs. Luna had been right, he thought. It was time to let go of grudges.

“Tell Malfoy ‘hullo’,” he called teasingly behind Hermione, laughing at her irritated groan. And, when she’d made it to the top safely, he went to the kitchen. 

The carefree joy quickly left him at the sight he found there, however, and it took his brain a moment to catch up to what he was witnessing. He hadn’t been aware that he’d crossed a _muffliato_ when he had entered the room, but the sounds of Draco Malfoy screaming pierced his eardrums. 

The young man was collapsed on his knees on the floor. With his uninjured arm, he was holding a wand over his Dark Mark. A spell had been cast and Ron watched as the skin around the mark began to bleed. He assumed the other man was trying to remove the mark, but something wasn’t right with that...

“What are you doing?” Ron asked, surprised at how calm he sounded. Malfoy jerked and the spell ended.   
“Fuck!” Malfoy yelled. “I was finally getting somewhere, Weasley!”

Ron just stared at the mark on Malfoy’s arm. It was different than it had been since the injury, as if Malfoy were attempting to restore the design. Ron shook his head and hoped he was wrong. “It looks like you’re trying to fix that,” he said.  
Malfoy made a movement, as if he were trying to get up, before he stopped and leaned back against the cabinet under the sink instead. “Who wouldn’t try to fix their arm?” he asked.

“You know what I’m saying, Malfoy,” Ron bit out angrily. “It looks like you’re fixing the disgusting tattoo on your arm!”  
Ron stared at Malfoy, his anger bubbling. Malfoy looked unearthly pale. His hair was soaked in sweat and his hand was trembling.   
“You’re killing yourself to fix that?” he stammered. “I don’t understand, Malfoy. I really – Hermione –”  
Malfoy turned quickly towards Ron at the sound of Hermione’s name. “I am doing this for her,” he said. 

Ron practically growled. “How does that work, Malfoy? Fixing a mark the represents the extermination of witches like her?”  
“I am no use to anyone like this, Weasley! The only way to fix it is to repair the mark.”  
Ron tried to process the words, but Malfoy continued. “There’s no time for me to figure out how to function with only one hand. And I know what this is and how to fix it.”

“But you were hit with Bellatrix’s dagger. It’s cursed. The scar will be there forever.”  
“It didn’t hit my tendons. As soon as Fleur told me that, I knew what was wrong.”  
“Tell me, then. Before I remove your arm entirely,” Ron said. He pulled Wormtail’s wand out and pointed it at Malfoy. “I don’t think you could stop me.”

“Not even if I wanted to,” Malfoy murmured.   
“Not convincing me you are trying to fix your arm, there, Malfoy.”

Malfoy laughed and dropped the wand he’d been holding onto the floor. “It should irritate me that it’s you pointing your wand at me. My father always told me that the Weasley’s were worthless. You were poor and overextended. It wasn’t until I started to feel what he felt, what really motivated his hate, that I understood why he really hated you all. Jealousy. He was jealous of a family that could function without money. A family that had no money but the thing he wanted more than anything. Abundance.”   
“Abundance?” Ron asked.  
“It means a lot of something, Weasley,” Malfoy said.   
Ron was about to snap at him until he saw the smirk on his face and realized he was baiting him.  
“What were you jealous of?” Ron asked instead. “You said you started to feel what he felt – so what made you jealous?”

Malfoy licked his lips and looked at Ron. Ron was uncomfortable under Malfoy’s stare, but he couldn’t look away.  
“A future worth having,” he answered. “I wanted that. My father wanted a family. He was jealous of your father’s legacy. And he would demand that my achievements were that of a horde of Malfoys. Instead, he suffered a son who was less a seeker than Harry Potter. A son who was just behind a _mudblood_,” he snarled and Ron could recognize the detest he felt at the word. It unnerved him. “And a son who couldn’t even achieve the friendship of The Boy Who Lived.” Malfoy stared at him again and nodded, smirking at Ron’s discomfort.  
“I resented a future I had no say in. I resented they way it felt to cheat. And how it felt to plot and scheme. Those things never made me happy. Success produced relief. Relief that he’d be pleased in something I had done. No choice was mine. Not even the Dark Mark. Not really.”

“You just wanted to help He Who Must Not Be Named get to Harry. That was your choice, Malfoy,” said Ron.

“What would you do for your mother?” Malfoy asked. “If the Dark Lord was lurking in your home and staring at your mother as if she were a toy to be played with, what would you have done? Is there a choice in protecting your family?” Malfoy continued quietly. “If there was a choice, I realized the wrong one, perhaps, but I did only what I thought I had to do. I didn’t offer to take the mark, but I accepted it when I had to. And Potter – I meant it when I said he lives a charmed life. He always manages to find a way past him. Would it make you feel better that I was afraid for Potter? That I had thoughts of what might happen to him and I would have to push them away to save my family and myself? That all of last year I wanted to die and only moved forward for my mother. I lost myself in potions to stay awake and ignore the fear. And I learned as much as I could about muggleborns. I was going to prove my doubts wrong, Weasley.” Malfoy barked out a tired laugh. “Of course, I only proved to myself how right my doubts had been.”  
“Then why are you fixing the mark?” Ron asked. “If you don’t want to be a Death Eater, why are you doing this? Many wizards have been injured in wars and continued fighting.”  
“Yeah?” Malfoy snarled. “And how many lived through it? I am willing to die for may family, but not just for the sake of dying.”  
“Stop prattling, Malfoy,” Ron ordered. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“The mark is booby trapped. Any damage to it has the potential of being assumed to be intentional by the member marked, which is telling in itself. The Dark Lord knows wizards will regret following him,” Malfoy said.  
“What kind of booby trap?” asked Ron.  
“The mark is always placed on the wand arm. If the mark is tampered with, the wand arm becomes dysfunctional. The longer a wizard waits to go to the Dark Lord for the mark to be repaired, the worse the dysfunction becomes.”  
“What does that mean?”

“You’ll lose your magic?” asked Harry from the entryway, startling the other two.

“Where did you come from?” Ron asked.  
“How long have you been listening?” asked Malfoy at the same time.  
“Since Ron threatened to disarm you,” Harry said. “Where’d you get the wand?” he continued.  
“Stupid cloak,” Ron said quietly to himself. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at Ron before turning back to Harry. “My mother. How’d you get my wand without one of your own?”  
“I grabbed Wormtail’s from Ron’s hand when I saw you lunging towards Hermione. I misunderstood what I saw. Sorry.”  
“Sorry I offered you up to save my mum.”  
“That is a really lousy apology, Malfoy.”  
Malfoy said nothing more. 

“Are you going to lose your magic?” Harry asked him.  
Malfoy sighed and pulled his uninjured hand through his hair and away from his face. “Fleur unknowingly set off the booby trap when she was trying to see the damage done by my aunt’s dagger. Her inspection resembled an attempt to remove the mark. If I don’t fix it, my magic will be corrupted and eventually deteriorate completely. Before I lose it, I will go mad and harm those closest to me. If I can’t fix this, I can’t be trusted.”  
“Are you saying we’d have to kill you?” Ron asked in jest, but Malfoy remained silent.

“I'm sure people have tried to remove the mark before, but has anyone ever just tried to deface it completely?” asked Harry.  
Malfoy and Ron looked at him, both seeming confused. “What do you mean?” Malfoy asked.  
Harry pulled at the cord around his neck, sliding the cork pendant, before he answered. “You are restoring the snake and skull, right? What if you alter the image instead? Could you stop the magic from working all together?”

The three men were startled from the conversation, however, when the outside door to the kitchen opened abruptly. Bill had returned home much sooner than planned and Ron approached him quickly.

“What was the name of my teddy bear?” he asked Bill.  
“You didn’t have one,” he replied. “You had a stuffed pig named Snorten.”  
“You’re home early,” Ron said. “Has something happened?”

“Oh, yes,” said Bill as he opened a cupboard over the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Fire Whiskey and four glasses. He eyed Malfoy still sitting on the floor before nudging the younger man’s wand back to him with his foot. “Something more pressing than what’s going on here, I’d wager.”

He poured whiskey into all four glasses and motioned for the young men to have a cup.   
“What’s happened?” Harry asked.   
“Frank Longbottom has died,” Bill said and took a swig of his drink.   
Harry and Ron both sat down at the table, Ron taking a sip of his own. 

“And,” Bill continued, “Alice Longbottom has completely recovered.”


	24. Touching Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW - self mutilation or harm

With great effort, Draco had to contain his impulse to sneer. Sitting quietly with his rivals, he had to acknowledge that they weren’t his enemies any longer. Now that Draco really knew what an enemy could be, he understood that these people sitting around him had never been his enemies at all. 

She – Granger – was sitting next to him. _Her, witch, know-it-all bookworm,_ Draco thought, mentally finding the right words to describe her before looking towards Luna. _Friend. Odd, but sweet. Perceptive and frightening; but reassuring, too_. He turned to Weasley. The usual irritation bubbled and he tried to think of something positive. _The red-head was her friend. He protected her. He was funny. He’d given him a chance._ But Potter. Draco found it difficult to separate his resentment and jealousy from the grudging respect that he had become a master at pushing aside. Turning to face the other young man, Draco found Potter already looking at him. Most likely trying to come to terms with Draco’s presence here, just as Draco was doing.

Draco needed Bill to hurry back with Fleur and they had to keep Neville from seeing his mother. Merlin, how had it all gone so mad? As soon as Draco had realized that Neville would likely be sent to see his mother, he’d tried to get up off the floor of the kitchen. He’d failed miserably, but he’d caught Bill’s attention. 

_“It’s a trap –” he had said to Bill. “Bellatrix has a mad obsession with the Longbottoms. If Neville’s mother is at St. Mungo’s, then she must be moved immediately!”  
_ _“What are you saying?” asked Bill. _

_Harry had risen from his seat and stood behind the red-haired man, staring down at Draco.  
_ _“Move her!” Potter said urgently to Bill. “Get her out of there immediately.”  
_ _“And you mustn’t let Neville see her,” said Draco. He hated the words. “He mustn’t know.”  
_ _“It’s probably too late for that,” said Bill.  
_ _Draco cringed. “Keep them apart. You must. Her magic – Bellatrix’s magic is unnatural. Mrs. Longbottom may be imperiused or otherwise compromised.”  
_ _“What does that mean?” Ron asked. “Is she dangerous?”  
_ _“I don’t know,” Draco said.  
_ _Bill nodded his head. “I need to talk to Fleur. She may have some ideas, too. Find Hermione and Luna and all of you get to the sitting room.”_

Harry had retrieved the girls and Granger, without hesitation, had sat down next to Draco on the sofa as soon as the five of them were together. Draco couldn’t understand how she could so easily set aside their past. Then again, he found no issues with her so close to him. Would that have been the case, even a year ago?

“Did you see the mark when you visited me in the Hospital Wing?” Draco murmured to Hermione as they sat in the sitting room and he rubbed the fresh bandage on his arm. She held his injured hand, as she so often did now, and the way the sofa settled made him recall her weight on his hospital bed when she had leaned over his recovering form after Potter’s attack.

“You were awake?” she asked, startled by his question. “I was sure you were asleep.”  
“I was,” he answered, taking his free hand and placing it over their clasped hands as he cringed at the senselessness of his mind leading up to his letting the Death Eaters into the castle. “I wasn’t able to control my body, so I was just stuck there while people came in and out.” Draco cast a quick look in Potter’s direction and smirked at Potter’s uneasy expression. Draco winked at Harry, just to hit home that he had, indeed, heard Potter’s apology when he had stopped by, too. 

“No,” Hermione said. “I didn’t see it. I stopped when I realized it wasn’t right of me to be doing that. I’m sorry; I should never have invaded your privacy, Draco.”  
He tried to squeeze her hand, momentarily forgetting his injury, and met her gaze. He liked the way her brown eyes focused on him, as if he was the only other person in the room. 

“We need to figure that out,” said Ron, his words breaking the exchange Draco had dared to lose himself in.  
Hermione looked at Ron questioningly and Draco forced his attention back on the rest of the group. Ron nodded towards Draco and gestured towards the bandage on his arm.   
“Ron’s right,” said Harry. “The sooner the better.”

Hermione shifted in her seat next to Draco. “I noticed your arm had been bleeding again,” she said to him. “But it seems that more of you are in the loop of what happened with that than I had realized.”  
Draco tensed as Ron snorted. “The wanker is trying to fix it,” Ron said.  
“Who wouldn’t try to fix their arm, Ron?” she asked, defensively.

Ron stared at her with his mouth open before shaking his head and chuckling. “Blimey, why didn’t we ever see it before all of this?” he said to Harry. “That’s exactly what he said,” he continued, nodding his head at Draco and looking back at Hermione. “But, I’m talking about his Dark Mark. He’s trying to fix that because he says it’s booby trapped.”

“Oh, it is,” said Luna.   
Ron, startled by her voice, jumped slightly. He looked over at her and found her staring at the fire. “How do you know? That Clyde Stimulus?” he asked.  
Luna smiled. “I like that. Perhaps, we should name my gift Clyde.”

“Luna?” asked Hermione, but she was looking at Draco’s arm.   
“It’s true,” Draco answered instead. “I am trying to fix the image on the mark so that I can use my arm again.”  
“And,” Harry prompted.

Hermione didn’t need an answer, however, her logical mind already putting the pieces together. “No!” she cried. “No, we can fix this. It’s just a tattoo. It doesn’t mean anything if we fix it. Not if it means saving your life.”  
“Granger –” Draco began, not really sure why it was so important to him to make her feel better.  
“I have all of my books, still. They never thought to worry about my beaded bag.”

“I had an idea,” Harry began.  
“That is completely useless,” said Draco. “Do you honestly think no one has tried to just mar the image away completely?” Draco leaned forward, his posture stiff.  
“Maybe my charmed life will make the difference,” Harry bit back.

“You can’t fix it,” said Luna quietly.   
The four others in the room turned to her. “How do you know?” Draco asked, echoing Ron’s words from earlier.  
“It’s tied to many of your lines, Draco. Not even the Dark Lord could fix it. He might be able to slow it down again, but that mark was killing you long before Fleur triggered the booby trap and sped up the process.”

“The Dark Mark kills the Death Eaters?” Ron asked.  
“Yes,” said Luna.   
“There are some pretty old Death Eaters,” said Ron.  
“Are there?” Hermione asked. 

“Why would he kill his own people?” asked Harry.  
“Maybe he didn’t know?” Draco said. He felt Hermione shift beside him and pushed aside the desire to grab her and his mother’s wand and apparate away from all of this. “Or he just didn’t care,” Draco realized with a choked laugh. “What better way to ensure you’re the ultimate wizard, but to exterminate the rest of them? The muggles would be left no choice but to bow down to you.”

“This doesn’t solve the problem of you going crazy and offing the lot of us before doing yourself in,” said Ron. 

Draco nearly gasped as Hermione gripped his injured arm tightly. He had felt the pressure of her grasp and looked down at her fingernails biting into his skin. “I felt that,” he said. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”  
“Could it be the bond thing you two share?” asked Harry. “Can you feel her because of that?”

“About that,” Hermione started, “what does it mean that I’m a ward of the Malfoy Estate?” she asked.  
“Yeah,” said Ron. “And why was Dobby not bothered by it one moment and then have a fit when he said you two were bonded later?” asked Ron.  
“What?” asked Draco, clearly alarmed. “Her being a ward is not the same as bonded. When did he say we were bonded?”  
“Right before Kreacher arrived,” answered Harry.  
“Kreacher is here?” Hermione asked. “Where is he now?”  
“Where’s Dobby?” asked Draco. “Did he ever explain what he meant?”

Harry was clearly unsettled by Malfoy’s behavior. “What are we missing, Malfoy?”  
“Bonds can be dangerous, Potter. If I’m dying and she is bonded to me…”  
“He’s right,” said Ron. “Depending on the bond, this could get pretty ugly.”

“Our to do list is rather long,” said Luna.  
“So where do we start?” asked Harry.

“With Alice Longbottom,” said Bill as he and Fleur came down the stairs. “Draco said it was urgent we retrieve her.”  
“No.” Hermione said sternly. “No. We have to finish our mission. And Draco’s arm is a threat now, too. We have to get everything out on the table to make sure we aren’t missing anything.”  
“Granger, this is serious. Neville’s mother is in immediate danger,” Draco insisted.

Hermione let go of his hand and he hated the feeling of loss that came with the movement. Sitting up straighter, Hermione addressed the room. “Each person will answer my questions concisely and we will, as a group, decide where we go from there.” Hermione had a quill and parchment in her hand already, no one able to determine where she had retrieved them from. She moved closer to Draco, so much so that he had to adjust his arm to make room for her, and waited for Bill and Fleur to join them in the room. Seating was limited, so Bill leaned against the mantle while Fleur sat on the floor next to Luna.

“Harry,” Hermione began, “what did Dumbledore ask you to do?”  
Harry stared at her and then turned to Draco. Harry’s face, for once, was unreadable and Draco remembered his promise to take the Unbreakable Vow. The two young men stared at each other before Harry turned away from Draco and, looking at Luna, shrugged his shoulders and answered. “Vold—Moldywart cannot be defeated until all of his horcruxes are destroyed.”

The sound of shattering crystal startled the group and they turned to the broken vase on the hard wood floor, its shattered pieces still trembling. Bill seemed oblivious to the mess he had made as he stared, with large eyes and pale skin, at Harry. “He sent you chasing after horcruxes?” Bill hissed. “Horcruxes!” he repeated in an angry shout.

Fleur quickly rose to her feet, avoiding the shards on the floor, and stood by Bill. “Bill?” she asked. “I don’t understand. What is a ‘orcrux?”  
Draco leaned forward, anxious to hear the answer himself. Even Severus had tiptoed around this part of the story.   
“To answer concisely,” Bill said, exaggerating the last word, as he used his wand to repair the broken vase, “it’s an object that is altered when a wizard murders another in order to split and store his own soul so that he may escape death.”

“We should have just come to you in the first place,” Ron said, disgruntled.  
“How do you know all of this?” Hermione asked.   
“Concisely, please,” said Draco, ready to get back to the Longbottoms. 

Bill grinned sourly at Draco and answered Hermione’s question. “Working at Gringotts, I am allowed access to very dark materials in order to break the curses I need to. How many did he make?”  
“Six,” said Harry.   
Bill paled visibly.

“Speaking of Gringotts –” Hermione began.  
“I have a question, first,” said Luna. “If you don’t mind.”

Draco and Harry both let out agitated breaths and slumped in their seats while Hermione gestured for Luna to continue. Draco, distracted by one of Hermione’s white curls, lifted his hand and wound it around a finger and felt himself calm. Hermione turned to him and smiled before taking his hand and rescuing her hair. 

“Harry?” Luna started, distracting Hermione and Draco from their stolen moment. The dark-haired boy looked at Luna intently, his own agitation relaxing as he waited for her to speak. “Are you done with the distractions Dumbledore left you with?”

Harry pulled his hand through his messy hair and dragged the cork pendant across the cord around his neck with the other. Draco felt his chest tighten at the look Potter directed at him while lost in his tortured thoughts. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind that he was missing something very important, something involving himself, and that Potter wasn’t going to share it with him. 

Seeming to have come to some sort of conclusion, the dark-haired young man nodded his head to Luna. “I let that become a distraction. Dumbledore was showing me something important, and I understand it now.”

“Riddles,” sighed Ron.  
“That we don’t have time for,” Draco said. He made no attempt to hide his frustration.  
“Why do you care so much?” Ron asked. “You don’t even know Mrs. Longbottom.”

So very much had changed this year at Hogwarts, including the unexpected alliance he had made with Ginny and Longbottom. A memory stole across Draco’s mind. He’d been surrounded by several younger Gryffindors who were eager for some revenge against a notorious Slytherin. He was confident he would be convalescing for some time after, but Neville had arrived. Without hesitation, the Gryffindor whom Draco had tormented for years, stood in front of the group and warned them off. The two men discussed their reciprocated rescues and agreed to start fresh. Draco would never regret that choice.

“I know Neville, all right?” Draco said and leaned forward again, his weight on the couch shifting him closer to Hermione. “He and I have worked out our issues. And he’s my friend.”  
Ron and Harry both looked at each other; unable, or not caring, to hide their surprise.

“Gringotts?” Bill asked Hermione after an uncomfortable silence.  
“Well,” she started.  
“If one’s there, we can’t get it,” he said, cutting her off. “It’s impossible.”

“We rescued Griphook from Death Eaters. He may be willing to help,” said Harry.   
“Goblins aren’t trustworthy,” said Bill. “They truly aren’t,” he said to Hermione when he saw her displeased expression. 

“We have Bellatrix’s wand,” said Ron. “And Polyjuice potion.”  
Draco was surprised at how quick the younger Weasley was. He had always assumed that Hermione led Potter and him around by their noses, but he was beginning to see how their friendship worked. Their talents supported each other.  
Frustrated with Ron’s observations, Bill shook his head. “We can discuss this later. I’m sure Hermione has more questions and, honestly, I have learned a lot from this task of hers already.”

“What is the difference between a bond and a ward?” she asked.  
“That’s like asking the difference between flowers and plants,” said Ron, exasperated.  
“There isn’t a concise answer to this, Hermione,” Bill said. “Dobby seems to have seen something more in you two than he or we initially thought. But he won’t speak of it. Harry called Kreacher to see if he could bring Winky here to help Dobby calm down, but she won’t come. Not unless we find someone to claim her.”

“She ‘ates being a free elf, you see,” said Fleur.   
“Dobby has never kept secrets,” said Hermione. “I don’t understand.”  
“He’s probably afraid,” Draco said. “Father was adamant with the House Elves that they would be set free if I were ever to get too close with any impure witch.”  
“That wouldn’t scare Dobby,” said Ron. “He loves being free.”  
“Could this really be his instincts?” Harry asked Bill. “Like you were talking about before?”

“He went against his fear and told you things he wasn’t supposed to, even before he was a free elf,” said Hermione. “That can’t be the reason.”

Impatiently, Harry stood abruptly. “Kreacher!” he called loudly.  
The familiar angry pop of Kreacher’s arrival sounded and the old elf turned to Harry expectantly.   
“Would Winky be open to interviewing for a position with one of us?” Harry asked.

Kreacher’s eyes narrowed and he looked around the room. “Only if one of you takes her on at the end,” snarled the elf. “I will not bring her here for you to trick her,” he added, turning to glare at Hermione.

There wasn’t a person in the room who wasn’t surprised at Kreacher’s compassion for the other elf, but all seemed to agree with his concern.   
“Bill and I ‘ave already discussed taking ‘er on,” said Fleur. “It breaks my ‘eart that she is so un’appy.”

Nodding sharply, Kreacher popped away before another word could be said.   
“Where’d he go off to?” asked Ron.  
Harry just shook his head. “I’m assuming to get Winky.”

“While we wait,” said Hermione, “what do we know about Alice Longbottom?”  
Draco couldn’t resist the urge to place his hand by her thigh. She’d come to the question he cared most about. 

“We have to step back before we can answer that,” said Luna. 

Draco’s irritation surged at Luna’s words. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted, rising from his seat and causing Hermione to drop her parchment. “Neville’s mother isn’t safe at St. Mungo’s! And if Neville is on his way to her, he isn’t safe either! He’s your friend, Luna. You were someone special to him… why aren’t you bothered by this?”

Hermione’s hand was on the small of his back, the warmth of her touch cooling his anger. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but he wouldn’t take back his words. 

“He needs to hear the prophesy, Draco,” Luna said lightly. “As you said, Bellatrix has a strange obsession with Neville’s family. If it pertains to you and Hermione and your aunt, it may help us plan.”

Luna rose from her seat and approached Draco. She took hold of his good hand and placed a butterbeer cork in his palm before turning to Hermione and doing the same. She gave one to Bill, Fleur and Ron before standing in front of Harry. 

She and Harry looked at each other carefully before Harry slowly pulled his butterbeer necklace up for her to see. She smiled at him and then she turned and sat down on the floor next to Fleur again.

Luna looked up at Draco, her face patient but expectant, and he leaned back gently into the weight of Hermione’s hand before sighing and settling back on the sofa next to her. 

“Honestly,” Harry grumbled, having found his seat again, “I don’t think I’m up for my life being controlled by another baffling set of sentences about the fate of the world.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort at Potter’s comments; Severus had told him all about the prophesy tying Potter and the Dark Lord together. He watched as Luna handed her yellow parchment to Harry. Harry and Ron read the words together in obvious confusion before Harry looked straight at Draco. “Is this why you were reading about oak trees in the Hogwarts library?” he asked.  
“What?” asked Draco, genuinely confused.  
“Oh, yes!” said Hermione. “You were reading muggle fables, remember?”

Draco did remember. He just didn’t want to admit that he’d forgotten in the first place. “I was reading that story because of something my mother wrote to me ina letter…”  
“Your mum wrote to you about muggle stories?” Ron asked.  
“Well, it originated in Greece, Weasley. It may be a muggle fable now, but it wasn’t always theirs.”  
“The Letter, Malfoy,” Harry said.  
“Concisely,” added Luna lightly, cutting through the tension.  
“There’s nothing to tell,” Draco said. “I don’t remember the letter, and I didn’t really remember it then, either. I was taking a lot of invigoration drought just to keep going and things got muddled in my head.”

Draco stiffened, ready to defend himself, but Potter just nodded his head and looked back at the parchment. Draco didn’t like the gratitude he felt; it was foreign and unwelcome. But it nestled in his gut and he couldn’t get rid of it. As if realizing his discomfort, Granger took his hand again, hooking her arm through his and pulling him close.

He hoped it wasn’t because of their unknown bond. Draco looked down at her and the sparkling white strands of hair mixed with the beautiful brown and feared it was only magic allowing them to feel so connected. But, he’d been fascinated with her long before the Manor. Had she seen him as anything more than a lost boy? Was her comfort exaggerated by whatever had happened when he’d saved her?

Guilt found him. He’d been horrible to her. To all of them. And here they all were, sitting together, and discussing plans they had no reason to trust him with. It pained him to acknowledge that it wasn’t stupidity or naiveté on their part; no, they were right to trust him. He just didn’t understand how they did.

“So, we’re assuming it’s about Hermione, Malfoy and Bellatrix?” asked Harry.   
“It could be about anyone or anything,” huffed Hermione. “Or it could be about absolutely nothing,” she added.  
“That’s true. Dumbledore even said that the prophesy about the war might only seem to be about me because Moldywart believes it.”

“Great,” said Ron. “Let’s get back to Neville’s mom.”  
“Thank you Ron,” exhaled Draco. 

Ron suddenly looked uncomfortable and Draco realized that not only had he thanked the ginger, he’d called him by his first name, too.   
“We need to get that horcrux before we can’t,” Harry interjected.   
“There is no way you can break into Gringotts,” said Bill, “so you might as well focus on saving Alice.”

“There’s enough of us,” Luna said, “that we could do more than one thing at a time.”  
“Luna is right,” added Fleur. “I am ‘appy to help. We can easily bring Alice here. And with our ‘elp, they can get to the vault they need.”  
“How?” Bill asked.  
“Ronald said they ‘ave Bellatrix’s wand,” she answered.  
“We do,” Ron agreed. “And Polyjuice.”  
“Only enough for one dose,” Hermione added. “But, I do have some of her hairs. I saved them…” 

Hermione’s words faded and Draco pulled her tightly to him, swallowing his sickness and guilt. 

“I can get you more of the potion from Hogwarts,” Draco said.  
“What?” Hermione and Harry asked at the same time, Hermione pulling away to look at his face.  
“How would you do that?” she asked.  
“From Slughorn. We can set up a drop before I go back there and I can get it to you through that,” he replied, as if it were obvious.  
“But, you aren’t going back there,” said Harry.   
“And why not?” asked Draco. “I’m of no use to you here. I’m likely a danger to you, even. There are things I can finish there before—”  
“No,” Hermione said flatly. “That would be pointless and reckless.”  
“Pointless? What do you know of it?” Draco hissed.

“Stop!” Luna shouted.   
The room silenced immediately, the shear shock of her light voice raised in such ferocity was enough to stop their arguments.   
“Three is no longer the safest number,” Luna began. “We are strongest as four. Draco must join Harry, Ron and Hermione. With the Witch of Oak Woods in play, no matter who she is, Hermione and Draco must stay together. Draco’s bond to her is strengthening.”  
“My bond?” he asked, but Luna ignored him.  
“Bill and Fleur must tend to Mrs. Longbottom. Neville and Professor McGonagall are waiting outside the wards and they will help you,” Luna said as she rose from the floor and approached Draco. 

Luna’s eyes were so clear blue they were practically glowing. “My father once told me never to touch a sparkling conran’s tail or it would bite me. I never really thought to consider his imaginings as anything other than fact until your father explained to me that he enjoyed my father’s funny writings – that father had a way of alluding to the truth in the guise of lunacy.”  
Draco didn’t know how to respond. He looked to Granger, but she, too, seemed confused. And worried. Draco turned quickly back to Luna and gasped. Her eyes were almost completely blue, her pupils gone.  
“Luna,” Hermione said calmly, “you are slipping into the layers.”  
“I know Hermione,” Luna said. “I know what I’m doing.”  
  
Hermione moved to reach out to Luna, but on instinct Draco captured Granger’s arm.   
“Don’t touch her,” he said. “I think –” he faltered, unsure if he was right, but continued. “I think that she touched me once while in this state and it pulled me in with her. She said it was very dangerous.”  
“It is very dangerous,” Luna said. “I am about to touch the tail, Draco,” she said. 

“What?” shouted Harry. “Luna what are you doing?” He seemed panicked and rose from his seat and rushed to Luna, turning her to face him.  
Draco rose quickly, but this time Hermione pulled him back. They all stared at the couple in the midst of them. Luna had grabbed Harry by his forearms and her hair was suddenly rising as if caught in a strong wind. Harry’s began to do the same and his eyes snapped shut. But Luna just stared intently at him.   
“Harry,” she whispered and Draco had to strain his ears to hear her, “I will wake up.”

Luna opened her hands causing Harry to fall back onto the floor with a thud. Slowly, the blonde girl turned to face Draco and he was struck by how similar she looked to his mother. And he suddenly knew; somehow, he knew, Luna was his kin. 

Draco’s eyes widened, but Luna just smiled. “Are you ready?” she asked as she stood before him. Her hair still flailing widely in some invisible, silent wind.   
“Ready for what?” he asked. Hermione inhaled suddenly and Draco felt the world shift around him.

And he was there with Luna again. He was there in the dark place and she was glowing. Light was radiating around her and her hand was on his arm. She’d removed his bandage and was gripping the wounds it had covered.

And the pain, dear Merlin, the pain. Draco was screaming, he knew it, even though he couldn’t hear himself. All sensation was lost to him except for the pain. He forced himself to concentrate, even as he felt his mouth dry out and his breathing stop, and he looked down at his arm where Luna had touched him. He could barely believe what he saw. 

Unwinding from his flesh was the dark ink of his tattoo. It corded around Luna’s fingers. The teeth of the serpent bit down on her white hand and shattered, erupting into grey clouds of dust that swallowed the skull and obliterated it. He watched as she wrapped her fingers tightly around the snake-like shape and pulled her hand away, ripping the ink from his skin. And he felt it tear from his whole body, as if every muscle and tendon were being pulled in two. And it burned, oh how it burned, as the snake kept emerging from his arm. It was longer than his whole body. And with her other hand, Luna pulled the last of the poison from his arm; the tail of the snake in her hand. 

With the flick of her wrist, she snapped off the head of the snake and Draco watched as the ink burst into cascading dust and vanished. The pain was gone with the ink. Draco looked at his hand and flexed his fingers, but his joy was quickly replaced by fear. What had she said to Potter? _I will wake up._

He looked back at her quickly and watched as her eyes cleared. She smiled at him. It was a small smile and it broke his heart. He reached for her, just barely catching her before her eyes turned white and she collapsed.

“Luna!” Granger screamed and Draco was back at the cottage again.   
He eased Luna to the sofa that he and Granger had vacated before he, too, joined Potter’s collapsed form on the floor.  
  


* * *

A storm was brewing in the distance and Hermione couldn’t help but appreciate how appropriate it was. Luna had once told her that her gift was like a thunderstorm crashing down around her. Hermione breathed deeply and hoped that this coming weather would give her new perspective, too. Dark clouds over dark water in the still of the night. She could smell the lightning and the rain on the air. She was ready, she decided. Ready to be cold and wet from the rain; ready to feel something, anything, since her torture. Anything, other than Draco Malfoy’s touch. 

It had taken her too much time to realize it was only him she felt. She knew when water was cold, but only because she saw the condensation. Her injuries hurt because they were supposed to, but she had never been able to describe or accurately pinpoint the pain. The pain that was just a flicker of a memory. She licked her lips when she was thinking – not to wet her dry skin. Her scalded toes had been her only clue her bath had been too warm; thankfully she’d realized before she’d fully submerged. She would feel the heat or cold in a room, only to match her moods. A response to the habit of her reactions in the past. If she were angry or agitated, she acted as though she were warm. Bored or nervous? Cold.

When she had realized what was happening, she had become more uncertain. Was her growing attraction to him real? She had fretted over her feelings long before the events at Malfoy Manor. She had thought of kissing him even before she had known for sure he had changed. He had grown. But the doubt assaulted her again. How could a boy that awful really change? How could his beliefs switch off like that? What was wrong with her, to be attracted to someone who viewed her as nothing more than dirt beneath his feet?

Thunder shook the world around her and she closed her eyes, waiting for the rain. The events of the day had exhausted her, but she couldn’t sleep until she catalogued them in her mind. Draco’s mark was gone. Whatever Luna had done, whatever had sent her into a deep sleep, had left his arm clean of the Dark Mark. His scars were still there, but the mark was gone. 

Hermione inhaled deeply and played with the small rocks around her, but kept her eyes closed. She played the moment over in her mind, when Draco’s head had fallen back and Luna’s hand gripped his injuries. The scream had been deafening. 

They had all seen the mark pull from his arm in a never-ending length of snake-like darkness. A parasite to mark the enslavement of bigoted fools. But was he a bigot any longer? And what of Snape? Were there other Death Eaters trapped in their circumstances? 

She shook her head as she listened to the water crash and pushed her thoughts forward. Bill had retrieved Neville and Professor McGonagall from the shore outside the wards after Draco had collapsed next to Harry. The Head of House had already determined that Neville should not go to his mother, siting a trustworthy source again. Recalling that Fleur had briefly shadowed at St. Mungo’s before transferring to Gringotts Bank, Professor McGonagall had decided to come to her for help. Time, she said, was fleeting, as their intent for Mr. Longbottom to see his mother could not be kept secret from the Death Eaters.

Hermione heard the rain, but refused to open her eyes. She would train her body to feel it. She was not ruined by her torture. The falling rain was louder than she expected. And the waves in the sea seemed to be crashing fiercely.

She rolled her shoulders and focused again on her memories of the day. Harry and Draco had both recovered quickly when Fleur held smelling salts under their noses. Draco’s relief at Neville’s being unharmed was overshadowed by the shock in the room when the two men embraced. Draco’s heartfelt sympathy to Neville at the loss of his father was taken in stride by Neville, as if the sentiment was both expected and appreciated. No one knew why Alice Longbottom had recovered from her mental incapacity or what had caused her husband to die. But all agreed she was in danger where she was and to remove her must be done carefully and speedily. 

Hermione considered the way Draco had explained to Neville that his mother may be compromised. Without hesitation, Neville had said they should consult his Gram as she would be able to recognize anything out of character. 

And just like that, the four of them were gone. Four. _We are strongest as four_. Harry and Ron had already accepted Draco was on their team now. Harry had rushed to Luna when he had woken. And Draco, quickly at his side, murmured something in his ear. 

Hermione visited the memory over and over again in her mind, but she couldn’t figure out what Draco had said. But Harry’s shoulder had sagged in relief and he had clasped the other man’s shoulder before nodding his head in gratitude. 

And four of them remained. Harry feared the temptation of asking Griphook for help so Dobby, still uneasy around Hermione and Draco, had agreed to take the goblin away. Dean Thomas and Ollivander were keenly aware that they weren’t part of the group, and they hold away together on the other side of the cottage. Dean was learning all about wand making, and had already started practicing to make his own. Perhaps, one of them would be willing to make her a new one. 

Hermione shuddered. She was wandless as she had refused to take the wand she was to use with her. It would never be hers. She couldn’t feel the magic of it, but she instinctively knew that Bellatrix’s wand was filth. She could imagine the slime and darkness oozing from the stick and she wanted nothing to do with it. But, as Draco had said, if she was to play his aunt, she would have to master the frightening wand. The wand that had hurled immense pain onto her while she wept, defeated on the floor.

Thunder shook again and Hermione thought she had heard her name sounding in its noise. And then, she heard it again, over the beating rain.

“Granger!” called Malfoy’s voice.   
And suddenly she felt his warm hands scoop her up and her side was overheated by the feel of his chest as he hurried her back to the cottage.  
“What are you doing out here?” he panted as he ran. “It’s freezing, Granger. There is literally ice falling from the sky!”

Hermione reached up to touch her hair and realized that it wasn’t pliant. As they neared the light of the cottage she looked at the glaze of ice around her strands of hair.  
“I didn’t realize,” she murmured.  
“How could you not realize?” he huffed as he pushed the kitchen door open with his foot. 

He set her down in a chair by the table and pulled his wand out. Immediately he began casting charms over her frozen clothes and hair. She felt no difference. She felt nothing. Perhaps, she realized, it was good that she knew she could no longer feel, or she would have convinced her body to shut down at what she was seeing. Her hands were purple and blue. Her shoelaces were glazed in ice, just like her hair. She looked up at Draco and resisted the urge to cry.

“You’re in shock,” he said. “If that wears off before I’ve finished, you may be in a lot of pain.”  
“I won’t,” she choked out. “I can’t feel anything but you.”

He stilled and then looked at her, his eyes wide as he thought over her words. “Granger? You should have told Fleur. Has this been since the – since the torture?”  
“The last thing I felt at the manor was you. And you are all I’ve felt since.”

Hermione watched as he closed his eyes as if in misery.   
“It’s probably our connection, whatever that is,” he said, his tone monotone.

Hermione felt herself cringe. “I’m sorry,” she said.  
Draco looked at her sharply. “For what?” he asked.  
“That you’re stuck in this mess because of me. I don’t know what’s happened, but something has obviously forced us to feel more strongly—” she stopped, realizing what she was about to say. 

She felt his hands on her arms as he massaged warmth into her skin. “I’m scared of that, too, Granger,” he said quietly. “I would never have gone out there for you a few years ago,” he said.  
She nodded slowly as she watched his arm, now free of the Dark Mark, move as he took care of her. “You would have woken Harry up to do it, though,” she said. “You would never have left me to die.”

He seemed pleased by her words, a small, proud smile on his face. “No,” he said. “I’m glad you realize that.”  
“When you see me, what do you think?” she asked him.  
“I think of you. Granger…” he hesitated, as if uncertain.   
“As someone less than you?”  
“No!” he argued and pulled away from her. “No. I think of you as bookworm and swat. And know-it-all. Stubborn. Powerful and gifted. Small and brave. Feisty. Strong. Pretty. And… and I think of you as a witch I want to know. I think of you as mine to protect and support and grow with.” He wouldn’t look at her, his fear of rejection evident in his body language.

Hermione was suddenly very cold. Her body was shaking and pinpricks were dancing all over her skin. She felt her jaw lock and her spine stiffen.   
“Granger!” he said, alarmed, and began casting charms again. He focused on her clenched hands and she was conflicted by the delight at finally being able to feel again and the horror at the pain her body was under.

“I would like that,” she said through chattering teeth.   
“What?” he asked as he sat in the chair beside her and continued to wave his wand.  
“To grow with you,” she said. 

She was warm again, his spells having finally removed the ice and water and having seeped into her body to warm her from the inside out. He’d lifted her legs to his lap and massaged her calves through her now dry trousers and he’d removed her shoes to curl his hands around her toes.

He looked at her intently.   
“Is this real?” he asked her. “Or is this whatever magic we have fallen under?” He lifted his hand and touched her cheek.   
“Do we care?” she asked him.

He grinned mischievously and pulled her forward and onto his lap, taking her chin in his hand so that she would look at him. And then his mouth was on hers. Warm and firm. He wasn’t forceful, despite his actions leading to the kiss, and she joined him. 

She had been right. He did have the most kissable mouth. His hands were in her curls and her fingers gripped his shirt and she leaned into the moment. 

This was better than Viktor or Andrew or Cormac. She wasn’t shy or worried or afraid. She felt wanted and appreciated and admired. In Draco Malfoy’s arms.

She was sure he wouldn’t demote her to kid sister like Viktor had. Or trick her like Andrew had. Or try to use her as Cormac had. But what if he did? What if this was all the magic and it would fade away? 

Draco seemed to feel her questions in their kiss and he pulled back. “It won’t go away, will it?” he asked her. “The doubt,” he clarified. He looked so sad as he said it and Hermione wanted to assure him.

“I don’t want to walk away from this, Granger,” he said. But his actions contradicted his words as he lifted her off of his lap and back into her chair. “But I don’t want to rush this either. You aren’t ready for this. We aren’t ready for this, if I’m being honest.”

He stood and Hermione reached out for him. “Draco,” she said, but he shook his head.  
“This isn’t over,” he said. “What just happened here was more than what’s happened to us magically, do you understand? We have been skirting around this, running away from this, for much longer than that. And I won’t ruin it with our uncertainty. We’ll figure out this bond and then go from there.”

His words made sense, but her body hungered for his closeness. She felt relief when he knelt down beside her and took her hands in his. “You can feel again?” he asked her.  
“It came back suddenly.”  
“You may have been in shock all along,” he said. “You were—” he faltered and she realized that he was upset. “The torture was among her worst,” he said.   
“Your mother helped me. You both saved me,” Hermione rushed to say. 

Draco squeezed her hands before returning to the seat next to her and taking her feet back in his lap. He held her toes once more and she smiled. She hated how cold they always seemed to be, but it was a welcome relief to feel again. “We need to talk to Dobby. Shouldn’t the elves have been back by now?” she asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Who would they have gone to?”  
Hermione suddenly felt her irritation rise. Of course, he would try to figure out all the answers to protect her, disregarding that it was her right to know before him. She should have guessed this would happen. Who would the elves have gone to? 

“Harry,” Hermione bit out, unaware of the appreciative look Draco sent at her ire.


	25. Inevitable Complications

“She was always more likely to become obsessive, sir, but this is extreme, even for her. It’s as if the Inquisitor has muddled her mind and taken advantage of her.”  
Parvati Patil stood perfectly straight, gripping her hat in her hands, as she shared her thoughts with the oily looking man in front of her. She had thrown her lot in with him, and there was no turning back. Seventeen years old, and a spy for the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; a man whose loyalties were shrouded in ambiguity.

He eyed her carefully, as he steepled his fingers, and his greasy hair obscured a part of his face. “Extreme?” he said. “I recall that she and Mr. Malfoy were very well acquainted a few years ago…”  
Snape let his words hang in the air and Parvati felt immediately defensive of her sister.

“Yes, well, she was, initially, not riled by his dropping her. She was upset, I mean, but not fixated. She wanted to hex him with a nasty case of boils, or –” she halted, unable to finish her thought out loud. _Make him lose his hair_. She felt sympathy for the Slytherin girl, Daphne, whose beautiful locks had remained on the floor long after she and her two housemates had made their escape the evening before. 

“And now?” Snape asked. “You have already informed me that she is under the impression that she is in a relationship with Draco Malfoy—”  
“Which is ludicrous, sir!” Parvati exhaled anxiously. “He repeatedly told her that she was a one off. When cruelty didn’t work, he tried to ignore her completely. He even apologized, headmaster. But Padma is convinced that she and he will get married after all of this. And when we heard he was probably killed, she went crazy. She refuses to accept that the Malfoys are dead. For a brief moment, I was sure she was almost back to herself. When we’d heard that the manor was destroyed, I was sure Padma was waking up from whatever delusion she is under. But, then, the Inquisitor was at her side, staring at her intently and whispering in her ear and she was gone again.”

“Did Bellatrix touch her?” asked Snape.  
Parvati paused, trying to remember what she had seen. “I don’t think so, sir…”  
“What was she doing with her hands, then?” he asked.

Parvati closed her eyes and tried to pinpoint the memory. “She wears a necklace. She had one hand on the necklace. The other was gripping her wand at her side.”  
“Wand?” he asked. There was something off in his voice and Parvati looked at him carefully.  
“Yes. She has a new wand. I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“Will you trust me with the memory?” he asked. And she felt relief again. No matter how uncertain she was of his loyalties, she never felt he was out to harm her. Or to take advantage of her good will. He had pushed her numerous times. Yelled at her, even. But he never manipulated her.

Parvati nodded her head and relaxed as he approached her. She focused on the interaction between her sister and the Inquisitor. Unbidden, the memory of the first Inquisitor came forward, as well. Dolores Umbridge had returned to Hogwarts after her failure at the ministry and she had been forced to follow Bellatrix around like a little, yapping dog. 

Snape smirked in front of her. “Were you there when it happened?” he asked.  
She knew to what he was referring and nodded her head. “Would you like to see that one, too?” she asked. Without waiting for his reply, she pushed the memory forward and watched as his face betrayed his pleasure at Umbridge’s fate.

He looked at Parvati and smirked again. “I was once given an ‘assistant’ after a perceived failure on my part,” he said to her. “An abysmal creature, more rat than man. It was a punishment wrapped in a gift – a Trojan horse, if you will. It took a great deal of effort on my part to pass that test. Bellatrix failed hers.”

Parvati couldn’t help but feel delight at those words. _Bellatrix failed_. Bellatrix had been unable to master Umbridge, the toad of a woman eagerly trying to outsmart the new Inquisitor. Umbridge had continuously referred to the ministry and to her way of doing things, as though Bellatrix were a mere pawn in the war and Umbridge were the queen. And so, one morning as the new Inquisitor was marching down the halls of Hogwarts, when Umbridge opened her mouth to sputter her silly words, Bellatrix turned on her and waved her wand. Blood had poured out of the old toad’s mouth, and her long, fat tongue had wiggled and flopped on the stone floor.

“Instead of letting Dolores fall on her own sword,” Snape said, “she lost her patience and showed her cards.”  
“How do you mean?” Parvati asked.  
Snape seemed distracted by the memories he was viewing, but he answered her question as he examined her mind. “The spell she used to sever Dolores’s tongue is a clue to what kind of magic she has been playing with. The choice of punishment, even, has pointed me in a direction I had not considered before.”

Regularly, Snape was trying to understand the magic the Inquisitor was teaching Parvati and the rest of the squad, but for whatever reason, Parvati was unable to speak of it. Even her memory became foggy when trying to remember her lessons with Bellatrix; the more she tried to remember them, the harder the magic was for her to even perform.

Parvati noticed how the headmaster, now done with her memories, seemed to peer at the portrait behind his desk, as if hoping the former headmaster would utter any word of support. But the kindly, old man in the frame still seemed to be dozing and Parvati had to push aside her compassion for the man before her, fighting a war against all sides.

Snape excused her to her dorm, the brief moment of solidarity gone as soon as he had turned from her. He had tested her mental walls, congratulated her on her natural talent, and made his way up the spiral staircase to, she assumed, his quarters.

She carefully placed the pointed hat back atop her head. There were no mirrors in the room, so she cast a quick spell to make sure that her appearance was perfection. Her severe, impassive, look was in place. Parvati squared her shoulders and made her way to the Squad’s quarters. 

Crabbe and Goyle had earned themselves a high place in the ranks, having achieved these private dwellings for the Inquisitorial Squad. Parvati pushed down her revulsion at the two disgusting men. To be fair, Goyle was mostly muscle now and his face had lost all trace of baby fat. But their actions, their treatment of women, would never allow her to see them as anything other than grotesque.

It was Astoria Greengrass, however, who unnerved Parvati. No matter what disagreements Parvati had with her sister, Padma would always defend her. But, Astoria had abused her own sister in such a sinister way. Over a boy. Parvati felt her chest tighten and had to reassure herself that Padma was not so far gone; her twin would not abandon her.

So, when Parvati entered the common room to find her sister and Astoria Greengrass huddled together, smiling cruelly over a pile of blonde hair, she had to hide the distress that had settled in her stomach. The two women looked to be in sync, sitting so closely together that their shoulders touched. 

Steeling herself, Parvati focused on her magic and moved to the other two women. Her sister looked at her sharply.  
“You approach us so?” Padma asked, her shoulders back. “Gliding on your magic?”  
Parvati forced a smirk. “Practice makes perfect,” she replied. “Is that Daphne’s?” she asked, looking towards the golden locks on the table.  
Astoria nodded. “The Most High Inquisitor has always said that strong magic can be performed using human hair. My sister pleaded with me to believe her, that she had no interest in my betrothed. She has nothing to fear, if her words were true.”

Parvati tensed. “I believe,” Parvati said, catching Astoria’s eye, “that your sister said he didn’t see _her_ that way.”  
“Then she should fear her lust for what is rightfully mine.”

Padma let out a high, happy sound and clapped her hands. “Oh, Parvati, isn’t it wonderful?” she exclaimed. “Bellatrix had said we would be a force to be reckoned with when we found our third point. I had assumed it would be Draco, but I should have known it would be another woman. Our missing sister!” Padma cried out and Astoria grinned. 

Parvati was startled, but not because she was afraid or jealous. No, it was her own excitement that scared her. The Inquisitor had already shown them such frightening and powerful magic; what would they be able to do if Astoria was the third point they had needed?

She felt the smile on her face and knew, from the look on Padma’s face, that her eagerness was evident. Her morbid curiosity would serve her well, Parvati decided, and sat in the chair across from the other two. 

“What are you going to do with Daphne’s hair?” Parvati asked.  
“We,” said Padma, her red lips smiling triumphantly, “are going to give it back to her.”

* * *

“Granger!” Draco called after the sprinting witch. She’d removed her legs from his lap and managed to get her trainers on in barely any time at all. And, now, somehow, the petite young woman was far ahead of him on her way to Potter. “You don’t even have a wand, Granger. How are you going to hex him without one?

She didn’t falter the slightest when she called back to him. “I don’t need a wand, Draco. I have hands.”

He caught up quickly enough, his view of her bum pulling him forward. Doubt regarding another matter set in, however. He should never have stopped kissing her. How likely was she to let that happen again? How soon would it be that she remembered he was a twat and she kept him at arm’s length? 

He grabbed her hand just outside of the door she had stopped at and pulled her around to face him.   
He didn’t have any thought of what he would say, so he just stared at her. Her focus settled on him and he watched as her fury faded and she smiled. 

When had Hermione Granger’s smile come to mean so much to him? Before he had kissed her? When they had kissed, her mouth on his had been a homecoming; he’d never felt as content as he had in that moment. Was it a bond? Or an inevitable eventuality?

“You were right to stop us, Draco,” she said softly. The familiar haughtiness was in her voice and he loved it, but he dreaded where her words were headed. “I am going to beat Harry to a pulp and talk to those elves so that you and I can pick up where we left off.”

Without looking away from him, Hermione turned the door handle and stepped into the room. Unfortunately, Draco’s relief at her plan was shattered by the sight that greeted them.

Luna Lovegood was asleep on the bed, her eyelids dark and her skin deathly pale. She, in fact, appeared to be dead. Potter, however, seemed perfectly calm as he sat in the chair beside Luna’s bed, her pale hand in his. 

“Oh!” said Hermione, startled. “Oh, Harry, is she, all right?”  
Potter was just smiling at them, looking ridiculous. Or drunk. “Well, well, Hermione,” he said. “What have you two been up to?”  
“What are you on about?” she asked and Potter just shook his head, his grin growing wider.   
“She’s fine,” Potter said instead. “She just completely drained herself pulling that thing out of Malfoy.”

“How do you know,” Draco asked.   
Potter stared at him intently. His expression left Draco feeling exposed and he fought the urge to take a step back. His stare was reminiscent of Luna’s, Draco realized, and then he understood.  
“It’s because she touched you, isn’t it, Potter?” he asked.

“She warned me I may see things differently for a while,” said the dark-haired young man, triggering Draco’s memory of her telling him the same thing.   
Potter had turned his gaze back to Luna, and Draco felt more confident.

“Draco isn’t seeing things any differently,” said Hermione. But she hesitated and looked at Draco. “Are you?”  
“She didn’t touch me this time,” Draco answered. “She touched the Dark Mark, which…” He didn’t know how to finish his thought.   
Potter answered for him. “Which was just a parasite in your body. That’s what exhausted her. Trying not to touch you, but getting that thing out of you. She… she projected her thoughts to me? When she was touching my arms, she wasn’t talking, but she—”  
“My mother can do the same thing,” said Draco. “It may be a family trait.”

“That makes sense,” said Potter.  
“How on earth does that make sense?” Hermione interrupted. “Unless—”  
“They’re related,” said Potter calmly. “And you two,” he said while motioning to both Hermione and Draco, “are definitely connected.”  
“How are you suddenly an expert?” snarled Draco. “Because your vision is heighted temporarily? I certainly wouldn’t say I was able to make these kinds of assertions when I was coming down from her touch.”  
“I’m not hindered by too many droughts.”

Draco tensed, but he couldn’t deny there was no accusation in Potter’s words. He had said them only as a statement of fact.

“And,” said Potter, “she was the one who made me understand. She showed me Fleur and Bill’s bond. It’s like a shining, glittering ribbon connecting them. And then she showed me how your lines are connected. It doesn’t look the same as their bond, but your ribbons are cording together.”

“What did the elves tell you?” snapped Hermione, and Draco was brought back to the reason they were here.   
He looked intently at Potter and was disappointed to see that he didn’t seem too frightened by Hermione. She didn’t seem impressed with Potter’s lack of reaction, either, and moved towards him. But Harry just held his hands up in surrender.

“Seriously, Hermione,” Potter said. “I am not so dense as to talk to those elves without you around. But the ribbons were brightest if I asked them to wait until you came to me.”  
“You sound like Luna,” Hermione grumbled. “And, what does that even mean?” she asked.

“Did something like this happen when she touched me?” Draco asked.  
Potter shrugged his shoulders and took Luna’s hand back in his own. “Like you said, it was different for you. You should just ask her when she wakes up.”  
“Will we even be around when she wakes up? Apparently, I am now on the hunt for horcruxes with you and your lot.”

“I’m pretty sure, Malfoy,” said Potter, with only a hint of revulsion, “that you are a part of our lot, now. It isn’t us and you anymore. And, as much as I didn’t want to believe it,” he continued, “it hasn’t been like that for a long time now.”

Draco swallowed and tried to push aside the good feelings Potter’s words had created. But the git wasn’t done talking.  
“You and Neville were able to sort yourselves out… You and Hermione are doing more than just getting over the past and I don’t really want to think about that more than I have already. Ron… Really, Malfoy? Two Weasleys, possibly three if what you’ve said about Ginny is true, are in your corner. McGonagall assumed you’d be with us. And Luna,” he paused, looking at the sleeping girl before continuing. “I’d be stupid to ignore them. And I’d be an idiot to ignore the ways you’ve helped us so far. And I really hate—”

He stopped suddenly and looked at Hermione. Her eyes were huge and there was a hopeful smile on her face that she quickly tried to hide. She nodded at him, her face encouraging. Potter pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked back at Draco.

“I really hate that I was wrong about you and because of that, I made mistakes.”

A big part of Draco wanted to preen. To gloat at Potter’s obvious discomfort. To laugh at how difficult it had been for the Gryffindor to admit he was the last to the finish line. But a small part of Draco realized that what Potter was offering him was more than just an agreement to work together. And if he didn’t pursue what Potter was suggesting, then it would be Draco who was the bigger fool. 

Draco looked at Potter, too ashamed to look at Granger. “I was a total prat and completely absorbed in the bias I’d been raised on. I chose the wrong side for most of my life and you were right to distrust me.” Draco ignored the worry that sprang up as he thought about his father. His mother had said they had safe-guarded the magic, after all. His parents were most likely safer than anyone.

Potter nodded. Neither had been expected to apologize, but both accepted that they weren’t guiltless in their rivalry. 

“As relieved as I am to see this,” said Hermione. “I need to know if Draco and I are bonded. Shame on you for not having the elves talk to us right away! And you will need to explain these cording lines or ribbons or whatever way you’ve decided to describe them, Harry.”

Draco wanted to swallow the words he was thinking, but they spilled up out of his mouth and escaped before he could change his mind. “We should include Ron, don’t you think?”

“Ron?” Hermione asked.  
“Well, calling him Weasley is too confusing, seeing as how there are so many of them,” Draco replied, hoping to avoid the question she was really asking.  
He heard Potter chuckle and refused to make eye contact with either of them.

“Dobby!” Harry called.   
The pop of apparition signaled the elf’s arrival. “Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby exclaimed, his little body trembling. Draco wasn’t sure if the elf was shaking due to excitement, or nerves.

“Hello, Dobby,” Hermione said softly and the elf bent his head down, turning away from her as if he couldn’t stand to look at her.  
Harry shook his head at Hermione and she bit her lip before nodding.  
“Dobby,” said Harry. “Will you please let Winky and Kreacher know we’re ready? And, Draco has asked that Ron be here for this. Would you please get him, too?”

Dobby nodded his head, but his energy seemed to have vanished. He acted as a small child, afraid after having been caught being naughty. Even the pop of his departure sounded sad and puny. 

“I don’t like this,” Hermione whispered. “I’ve never seen him so dejected.”  
She reached out and took Draco’s hand in hers and he felt immediate comfort in her touch. He hadn’t realized just how uneasy he was about this, but he desperately needed what she felt for him to be real. He already knew that somewhere in the midst of all that had happened in the last two years she had become special to him. He also knew, though, that her finding him special in return could only be the consequence of magic; he didn’t deserve her adoration and she was too intelligent to associate with him without some other force making her.

“I don’t know how she does it,” Potter said, staring at the two of them. “I know she’s practiced and can control it more, now. But when it first started, she said it happened all the time. This is crazy. The lines you two share are practically blinding. I’d tell you to get a room if I wasn’t scared of what you’d two do in one alone together.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded just as the two loud pops sounded in the room, announcing the arrival of Kreacher and Winky. Ron opened the door at the same time, Dobby right behind him.

At the sight of Hermione’s and Draco’s clasped hands, Ron rolled his eyes and nodded a greeting to Harry before leaning against the closet door. It was a small room, and the extra bodies forced Hermione and Draco closer together. She moved in front of him and leaned back against his chest. Draco’s uneasiness returned; he wasn’t sure how he would handle it if this night were to be his last as the man she allowed to support her.

The three elves couldn’t be more different, Draco realized. The female was tiny, wearing a crisp, white pillow case. She seemed pleasant enough, despite what he’d been told to expect of her. He assumed she’d cheered and sobered because she was now serving Fleur and Bill. He recognized Dobby, of course, but the little elf was withdrawn. And Kreacher was an ancient, crabby, severe elf, no doubt.

Potter leaned forward in his chair, looking directly at the morose little elf.   
“Dobby? What’s wrong?” he asked.

Loud wails of grief flowed out of the elf and he crumpled to his knees on the floor. Winky was at his side immediately, but Kreacher just shook his head and mumbled under his breath.  
“Dobby, please, answer me,” Harry said.

“He be ashamed, sir,” squeaked Winky. “I told him so, but he not listens to me.”  
“Over dramatic, disgrace,” drawled Kreacher, coldly. “His shirking of duty disgusts me.”

“Kreacher, enough,” Potter said sternly, but his tone was not unkind.   
The old house elf continued to mumble silently to himself, while Dobby’s cries grew louder. Harry got up from his seat to crouch down in front of the elf and placed his hand on Dobby’s small back. “Dobby, you’re scaring us.”

Dobby took in a shuddering breath and swallowed his sobs. Winky, holding Dobby’s hand, addressed the room. “Dobby was my only friend at Hogwarts. He is a bad house elf, but he is not a bad elf.”

“He said that Draco and I are bonded, Winky. Do you know what he meant?”  
From the corner, Kreacher sniggered at Hermione’s question, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.   
“You know something, don’t you?” asked Ron.  
“They are young elves,” Kreacher said. “Language has changed.”

“What does that mean?” asked Hermione. “Do you know what he’s talking about?” she asked Winky.

“You is connected!” Dobby wailed. “Master promised death! Master will kills you!”  
Draco winced. “My father won’t do that now, Dobby.”  
“He is evil!” Dobby wailed. “If Dobby had stayed, Dobby could have saved Harry Potter’s friends! Master will kill Harry Potter’s Granger!”  
“She doesn’t belong to him!” Draco snarled. “And she is a ward of the estate. My father cannot harm her.”  
“How are we connected?” Hermione insisted. “Are we bonded?”  
“You is!” cried Dobby. 

But Winky sighed and Kreacher snickered.  
Hermione turned to Winky. “Are you able to see what he’s talking about?”  
“No. I is not a family elf for Granger or Malfoy.”

“But Kreacher is a Black Family elf,” said Potter. “What do you see?”  
“Nothing,” hissed the elf.

Hermione relaxed. “So, we aren’t bonded,” she said.   
“You’s connected,” squeaked Winky. “Any elf can see that,” she added, staring coldly at Kreacher. 

“This is bonkers,” said Ron. “Do any of these elves speak English?”  
“I wish Luna would just wake up,” said Hermione. “She knew the answer, I know she did.”  
“Then why keep it to herself?” Ron asked.  
“Not the right time,” Harry answered. “She was probably just reading the lines and biding her time.”  
“What good came from that?” asked Hermione.  
“Well,” said Ron, “Winky has a new home, now.”  
“And you and Malfoy aren’t as twisted as you were before.”

The memory of Hermione’s kiss touched Draco’s lips and he tried to hide his smirk. “If anything,” he whispered in her ear, “I feel more tied up in knots.”

“Oye!” hollered Ron. “This room’s too small for that!”

“What aren’t you telling us, Kreacher?” Harry asked. “Tell us what you know.”  
Kreacher glared at Harry and Harry sighed, continuing to rub Dobby’s back. “Please, Kreacher. Please help us move past this so we can get on to the next thing.”

But it was Dobby who answered. He slowly stood up and took Harry’s hand in his own. “Harry Potter, sir,” he said. “She is a ward of Malfoy Estate.”  
Harry nodded, waiting.  
“And,” Dobby said, “he is hers.”

“Is that a bond?” Ron asked.  
“No,” said Kreacher. “Foolish, disgrace,” he said, then, to Dobby. “You should have been given an entire wardrobe at your birth!” said the old elf, but the contempt was missing in his tone. 

“She is a ward?” asked Winky.  
Both Dobby and Kreacher nodded.   
“And they are bonded?” she asked.  
But Kreacher snorted when Dobby, in confusion, just stared at Kreacher, fresh tears falling from his face.   
“Bonds reciprocate,” said Kreacher to Dobby. And, suddenly, Winky squealed happily and Dobby’s face brightened. 

“Oh, Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby exclaimed. “they is not bonded!”  
Hermione screeched, in delight or irritation, Draco wasn’t sure. But she turned to him and embraced him and he decided he didn’t’ care, so long as it was he she shared the moment with.  
But his questions flooded forward.

“What are we, then?” he asked over Hermione’s curls. “What does ‘he is hers’ mean?”

“It means, when you were lost and confused, you chose her,” said Luna from her bed.  
Harry quickly returned to her bedside, taking her hand in his and placing his other on her forehead, as if making sure she didn’t have a fever. Dobby joined him, puttering about Luna and presenting her with a cup of tea he had retrieved from thin air.

While most everyone in the room looked confused by Luna’s answer, Draco felt a whirlwind of memory fall into place. He tensed, his worst fears coming to fruition and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe.

“Draco,” Hermione said, grabbing his hands. “Calm down,” she said urgently.  
“It’s my fault!” he said. “I tied us together, Granger.”

“That’s not what happened,” chuckled Luna as she sipped her tea. Turning to look at Harry, she smiled. “It’s behaving differently for you, Harry. I admit I was scared I was reading the lines wrong and that you would have as awful a time of it as Draco did.”  
“His head was clouded,” said Harry.  
“And yours isn’t?” Luna asked.

“Dobby is so relieved,” said the elf. “this time, the darkness won’t force Master Lucius.”  
“This time?” Draco asked. “Darkness?”  
“Dobby,” Harry interjected. “You are a free elf. You have no master.”  
With an enormous grin, Dobby bounced up and down. “Dobby has no master!” he said. “Dobby is sorry he scared Harry Potter and his friends. If Dobby does so again, he will throw himself on the rocks below the cliff.”

“I am frightened,” mumbled Kreacher acerbically, barely loud enough to hear. Winky pinched the old elf’s ear and smirked when he batted her hand away.   
“Are you calling yourself my friend, Kreacher?” Harry asked, a satisfied smirk on his face.   
The old elf opened and closed his mouth several times, before finally snapping it shut and turning to Dobby.   
“The young Malfoy asked about darkness,” Kreacher said to the other elf.

Dobby sobered immediately. “Mas—Lucius Malfoy is a bad man.”  
Draco felt his chest tighten. He didn’t want to hear this.   
“He only knew how to be bad,” Dobby continued.  
“He’s changing,” Draco blurted out. “I know he is.”  
“How do you know?” asked Hermione.   
“Because he was in my head when mother was in yours. And he told me that I had to leave with all of you. Can you imagine my father allowing that?”

Potter was looking at him carefully. “It wasn’t safe for you there. We’ve never questioned that you are important to him, Malfoy.”  
“Well, I have!” Draco shouted back. “I questioned it every day. But at the manor, before you took me with you, he begged me to choose my own path. To make sure my decisions were my own and not compulsions learned from my upbringing.”  
Hermione squeezed his hands again and he sighed. 

“The darkness is Lucius’s compulsion,” said Dobby. “He was always bad. But, when he was bonded to your mother, it was worse. His badness was never as scary as his darkness. Dobby learned to see the difference. Bellatrix Black made it worse.”

“You dare speak the name of Black!” roared Kreacher. “You, nasty, ungrateful—”  
“Kreacher! Stop!”  
“—stain —”  
“I command you to stop!” Harry yelled.

Kreacher’s mouth froze mid insult.   
“Dobby is not afraid of Kreacher. Kreacher is old and frightened.” Dobby approached Kreacher. “Harry Potter is a wonderful master, Kreacher. If Dobby were not a free elf, Dobby would hope to be his elf.”

“Bellatrix made it worse?” Hermione asked. Her voice was hard and Draco realized Bellatrix may always be a part of Hermione now.   
“Lucius was better when she was in the wizard jail. But, then, Harry Potter was in every newspaper and Lucius could not stop talking about Harry Potter.”  
Draco nodded in agreement, remembering how frightening his father had become.   
“When Lucius took the dark book from the manor, Dobby knew she was behind it.”  
“She was in Azkaban,” said Draco. “I didn’t meet her, that I can remember, until my third year when she escaped.”  
“Dobby learned to see when the darkness came, Master Draco. The snake man made Lucius promise to protect the book. Dobby was frightened when the darkness was more powerful than he who must not be named. Dobby knows it was her. Dobby knows she must have willed it from her rot on the rock.”

Draco was sure Dobby was right. “He was so different when I started school,” he said. “I thought it was because he was ashamed of me.”  
“You and mistress are his world,” Dobby said. “He is a very bad man, though.”

Draco realized that Potter was by the old elf.   
“Kreacher?” Harry asked. “Please be nice to say what you need to say.”  
Kreacher’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at Dobby. “How dare any of you speak of the Black name, when only filth is here to represent it!”

“I feel no shame in my associations, elf,” snarled Draco.  
“You are only a Malfoy,” Kreacher bit back.  
“I think he means me, since I’m just Sirius’s godson,” said Harry.   
“Neither of you represent the Black family,” Kreacher hissed again. “Not in the ways that matter.”

“Do you think Regulus would have liked us?” Ron asked.   
“He would have liked Winky,” Kreacher said in a huff and popped away.

There was a soft clatter when Luna placed her empty tea cup on the table by her bed. “You really should be taking care of that horcrux in Gringotts,” she said lightly.  
“Not so fast, Luna” said Hermione. “I need a detailed explanation as to how Draco and I are connected. No more distractions.”  
“You accepted his decision to trust you. And when his cords reached out, yours accepted his. That’s all it is. But, because your connection is so strong, your cords are forming a natural, for lack of a better word, bond.”

Harry was chuckling beside Luna and Hermione glared at him.   
“What is so funny?” she asked snidely.   
Harry sobered immediately and shook his head before looking down at his hand in Luna’s.   
Hermione turned to Luna. “That is a very simple answer for something that caused Dobby to have a complete breakdown. We’ve been obsessing and fretting over this for some time now, Luna. And you,” she said, turning to Draco, “seem to have an inkling on what’s happening, too. Seeing as how you forgot to breathe there for a minute.”

Draco mirrored Harry’s actions from earlier, and raised his hands in surrender.  
“Hermione,” Luna interrupted, “he can’t be expected to remember. Draco found his path while able to see the other plane. I touched his shoulder, not knowing what would happen, when we were in the library. I was just closing my third eye when I found him in a hidden area of the library. He was asleep and I wanted to warn him to take Professor Dumbledore’s offer. But, because my eye wasn’t closed, I pulled him into the other plane with me. The potions he’d been taking had already caused him to be sluggish. And then when Harry cursed him—”  
“I kept seeing her,” Draco said. “Everything was out of order, but Granger was always there, forcing me to see reason.”  
“What?” Hermione asked.

“He was following the strings,” Luna said. “He was able to see them, but in his state, and without knowing anything about them, his mind filtered them into images.”  
“Like how you said you were dreaming while you were awake?” Hermione asked.  
Luna smiled and nodded. “But his images resembled actual situations, as opposed to mine which still allowed me to see the cords.”  
“Why was I seeing Granger?” Draco asked.

“You were looking for answers, Draco. You were looking for a future. And you followed the cords that led to your best future.”  
“What does that mean?” Draco asked. “Is she my future?”  
“That isn’t for me to share, Draco, but she is on the path to your best future,” Luna said.  
“So, we’re bonded, but not? Kreacher said it wasn’t reciprocated…” Hermione said. “I am not thrilled about half answers.”

“A magical bond, protected by magic, is not the same as what you two have,” Luna said. “You two were able to connect because of Clyde.”  
“Clyde?” Draco asked.  
“Her Occuli Stimuli,” answered Ron.  
Hermione groaned. “Kreacher said the language had changed. He knows what this is.”

“He knows a lot of things he isn’t sharing right now,” Luna agreed. “But your connection isn’t a threat. And your will to choose, Hermione, is still yours. Draco has already accepted and followed his choice in a way that won’t allow him to go back. He will always be yours.”  
“So, because Malfoy had a crush on me while under the influence of drugs and magic, our essential lines are connected?”  
“Just your head and your heart lines.”

Harry was laughing again.   
“What about this is so funny to you, Harry?” Hermione asked, her irritation saturating the words.

“Just remembering the let down when Professor Dumbledore told me that mum’s great power that saved me was her love. I mean, it’s beautiful and I love it now, but as a kid it was pretty much a frustrating answer after years of hoping for a magic bullet or something.”

Ron laughed, too. “We were stressing out about a bond, thinking if he died she’d die,” he added laughing. “And it was all because he tied his shoe laces to hers in a mad, hallucinatory daze.”

Draco was oblivious to the two Gryffindors, though. The jumbled memories were already fitting together properly in his head. And, although he couldn’t see the lines Harry and Luna were talking about, he remembered the pull of them. “Luna?” he asked. “Is that why she’s a ward? Not just because we were protecting her, but because I had already chosen her?”

“Chosen me?” Hermione huffed. “I hope you realize that I will have a say in my own future.”

“I know, Granger,” he said easily. “I’m yours, though. That’s what they said. You can drop me like week-old garbage, but I am still yours. I chose my path.” He felt relief in his words, realizing how true they were. He’d felt the pull of her and he’d embraced the truth of what she was and what she could be to him. His feelings were real and hers growing ones were, too.

“What if I decide I don’t want you?” she asked, monotone.

Fear gripped Draco and he blinked quickly before looking her in the eye. “I couldn’t and wouldn’t blame you. And when this is over, I’ll go my own way and see where this path I chose takes me. Alone.”

“Please don’t be that stupid,” she said quickly, taking his hand in hers again and squeezing it painfully hard. “I can be a little stubborn at times, so if I become difficult, give me some time to overthink it and then to cool off before you go on your way.”

“A little stubborn?” snorted Ron. “It’s your picture next to the bloody word in the dictionary.”

* * *

Minerva McGonagall watched carefully as Neville Longbottom sat with his mother in the small cottage on the outskirts of Caithness. Alice Longbottom was barely recognizable from the witch she had been just few weeks ago, when Minerva had last seen her. The lost, vacant look was gone, replaced by the alert eyes and large smile. 

Neville was besotted, but Severus’s warnings were fresh in Minerva’s mind. Whatever magic Bellatrix had performed, it had been more than a _Crucio_. Minerva felt the weight on her heart at the information Severus had provided. He had said that he never felt the need to tarnish their memory if the rumor were wrong, so he had kept alarming information from the Order. It had been said, though, during the first war, there had been indications that one of the Longbottoms, if not both of them, had been spying for the Death Eaters.

Augusta Longbottom had seen through Minerva’s carefully worded questions, and was still glaring at her from across the room. But the seed had been planted, and she was eyeing her daughter-in-law with extra care.

“I was there, Neville. Both your father and I were there in the room, we just weren’t safely in our bodies. It was as if we were floating just on the outside, not quite able to line up where we needed to be.”  
Neville was smiling, his eyes bright and happy.   
“Every gum wrapper was a hug, baby. It was the best I could do.”

“What happened to dad?” Neville asked. “How were you able to reconnect, but he …”  
“Oh, Neville,” Alice said. “I think your dad was the one to figure it out. You see, we were on a different kind of dimension. Our bodies weren’t dead, so we weren’t ghosts, but we were stuck between where ghosts live and between the Veil. We could hear the souls in the Veil calling out to us, but we couldn’t make out what they were saying. And the ghosts would ignore us, as if we were the worst kind of abomination. If they didn’t ignore us, they would tell us to cut our cords or crawl back in, as if it were that easy.”

Alice reached for the wine Minerva had poured for her and took a small sip. It was plain to see that she was exhausted, but they had all been made aware that Neville could not stay. It had surprised Minerva that it was Neville who was adamant he return to Hogwarts. Whatever plans he and his brood were up to, however, Minerva had already seen the amount of hell they had given the Carrows and the Inquisitorial Squad. She realized, now, that they had eased up on Severus. Had the man given himself away? 

“A spirit was on its way to the Veil,” Alice was saying. “Rodolphus Lestrange.”  
“He was not a patient there,” Minerva interrupted. “He was at Malfoy Manor.”  
“The dimension is different, Professor,” Alice said, her use of title an unintentional habit. Alice smiled at her slip and continued. “The space, or area, isn’t shaped like it is here. Any who die cross where we were stuck. Or, maybe even, we were stuck everywhere and by our bodies at the same time. It was a constant storm of passing spirits. Rodolphus seemed to be seeking us out, however, as if he knew we would be there.”

Augusta leaned forward. “Why is that name familiar to me?” she asked.  
“He was one of the Death Eaters, Gram. Bellatrix’s husband,” Neville answered, quietly.  
“And he was at Hogwarts with Frank and me,” Alice said. “Rodolphus and I were associated as children, but he cut ties when I was sorted into Hufflepuff. He viewed it as treachery that I was not in Slytherin.”  
“He was to be your betrothed?” Augusta asked.

Alice nodded her head. “I am relieved to this day that my mother was able to save me from that when my father died.”  
Neville had paled visibly. “You were meant to marry him? He was there, though! He was there when she tortured you!”  
Augusta’s face hardened at Neville’s outburst. “I am relieved he is dead.”

“It was terrifying to see his spirit. But he looked at me, I don’t know how to explain it. He wasn’t angry when he looked at me. He kept reaching for me, even as he was being pulled towards the Veil, and then Frank let out a startled sound and got between me and Rodolphus. Rodolphus was nodding his head and gesturing for me to come to him. Suddenly, there was this horrible sound, as if fabric were ripping, and Frank turned to me. He smiled Neville. He said he loved me and that this was the way out. And then he pushed away and towards Rodolphus and before I knew it they were both gone. And I was so frightened and alone! But then I heard your father’s voice from the Veil. He told me follow the wave to the Veil or my body; that he would wait for me if I chose to see you. And I moved towards his voice and suddenly there was this pressure, Neville. It was as if I had been caught in a tide, and I felt it pulling and pushing and I wept for Frank, but I turned back to my body so I could hug you with more than just a gum wrapper.”

Neville looked confused. “Why did he choose the Veil?” he asked.  
Augusta sat up straighter, waiting for Alice’s answer.  
“I don’t know, Neville. It all happened so quickly. I don’t think he understood exactly what would happen until he was caught up in it. He and I have only spoken of you for the last fifteen years. He was proud of you. He wanted to meet you properly, man to man. Instead, he gave me the chance to hug my son.”

“Mum, we can’t trust you,” Neville said, abruptly. “We don’t know what’s been done to you.”  
Minerva looked up sharply. She had not expected this.  
“You shouldn’t automatically trust me,” Alice said. “This is a highly suspect situation. Especially, since Rodolphus was involved. I won’t go anywhere until I have been thoroughly examined by a mind healer. And, even then, I need to be supervised. At least for now, until we all know I can be trusted.”

“These are uncertain times, Alice,” Minerva said. “I am not sure where we can take you. Or who can stay with you.”  
“What of the couple waiting outside?” Alice asked. “Molly and Arthur’s son and his partner, I presume.”

She couldn’t say why, but alarm bells were sounding in Minerva’s mind. She looked to Augusta, and she too, seemed leery. The questions were harmless. To be expected, even. So why were they uneasy?

“Mum, I don’t think you should stay with them,” Neville said. He pulled back and was standing behind his chair. “Not before you see a trusted mind healer. And take some Veritaserum.”

“Perhaps,” Alice said, “you should take me back to St. Mungo’s. I don’t think you are equipped to take on the burden of me.” She was on edge, her lips tight across her teeth. And her eyes were darting about the room, as if looking for an escape.

Neville reached into his robe and pulled out a vial of clear liquid. Minerva had no idea where he’d found it. She gripped the vial Severus had given her tightly in her pocket and waited to see what the young Gryffindor was up to.   
“We won’t be locking you up, mum. We just need to find you a safe place to stay. Take this mum. It’s a good place to start.”  
Neville held the vial out to his mother, but as she reached for it, her hand seemed to shake, knocking the potion from his hand and onto the floor. 

Minerva noted that Neville did not look surprised. He turned to her and his expression was calm.   
“Professor McGonagall, you had another vial, didn’t you?”

Pride welled in her heart. Oh, what a long way the young man had come!   
She slowly approached Alice. “I would be happy to help you, Alice, dear. You are obviously exhausted. We can get this done and find you a bed here for tonight.”

Before she had stepped more than a foot, Alice lunged from her seat and turned to Augusta. But Augusta Longbottom was no fool, and her wand was lifted and ready. 

“Oh, Mum,” Neville said sadly. “Why’d you really come back?” he asked, only a hint of desperation in his voice.  
Alice sank back down to her seat, her shoulders slumped. “She tortured us, Neville. She stole our lives. I will never be your mother after that. How could I be? You’re already grown! I lied to you. Rodolphus pushed Frank away. I don’t know if your father’s a ghost or in the Veil. I don’t know what happened to him! And then Rodolphus tried to pull me with him. I used the energy still lingering from his recent death to push him into the ghost realm and pull myself back into my body.”

Alice was weeping, unable to look at her son. But, Neville approached her and knelt before her. “Why’d you come back?” he asked again.  
“To kill her,” Alice whispered. 

Minerva had barely heard the words, but the weight of them filled the room.   
“Take the potion, mum.”  
Minerva handed the vial to Neville and he held it out to his mother. Alice wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hospital gown and took the vial. She opened it quickly and swallowed it all.


	26. Brecon Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems a little off... my dog is sick. And, no, this is not the equivalent of the dog ate my homework. He's vomiting, collapsing and lethargic. During a pandemic. And I hate that there is very little we can do right now except try to make him comfortable until he can get into the vet tomorrow. Good vibes/prayers/whatever would be appreciated.
> 
> But on to my distraction for the evening. 
> 
> TW: description of injury, blood and violence. sexual topics. mention of torture.

The sun had fallen, leaving long shadows stretching across the room, but Professor McGonagall’s attention was solely on her student and his mother sitting across from him. McGonagall’s stern face offered no encouragement to Alice Longbottom.

“I was a foolish girl. I never loved him; never wanted to marry him,” Alice said. “But, I was certain I could change him. I was sure that he loved me enough to change his mind, and I tried to manipulate him into seeing the world my way. The way he paid attention to me was like a drug, and I was obsessed with the feelings of being beautiful and seductive.” She smiled derisively, before downing the last of her wine. “Until Frank, Rodolphus was the only boy to look at me as if I were beautiful. I feel shame now, but I loved the attention and it brought out the worst in me.”

Neville was, once again, sitting across from his mother. His only question had been _Will you tell me your story?_ That had been all that was needed to get her going.

“When we were children, we were in a bubble of ignorance. Our families’ political affiliations were of no importance to us. My parents were in an arranged marriage. My mother had been a student at Beauxbatons and my father a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. Both of Rodolpho’s had been in Slytherin. My mother never spoke ill of the Lestrange family until after my father’s death. It was then that I learned of the danger in old familial marriage bonds. All her liberties were stripped of her when she married my father. Had she contradicted my father, the magic of their marriage would have caused her to become mute, blind and deaf and may have stripped her of her magic, as well.”

“Honour Over Instinct,” said Professor McGonagall. “The Ministry forbade that from being used in marriage vows over a century ago, when it was realized how it could be manipulated to force a young bride into servitude.”  
“When do Purebloods listen to rules that go against their traditions?” Augusta snorted.  
McGonagall nodded her head. “Yes, you are right, of course. But I’m still surprised by it’s being used by such a notable family.”  
“You mean by a family that wasn’t in Slytherin?” Alice asked. “My father was a Slytherin to his very core. The hat almost placed him there. He bragged to my mother how he simply told the hat he would prefer to be in Ravenclaw and that was the end of it.”

“I don’t think it could have been that easy,” McGonagall huffed as she waved her wand and spelled the wine bottle to refill Alice’s glass.  
“I recall, Minerva,” said Alice, “that too much wine with this potion could cause me to pass out.”  
Minerva nodded. “It’s a rather weak blend. You’ll be fine.”

Alice turned to Neville. “My story, though,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek before continuing. “When we arrived at Hogwarts, I learned about the social complexities in the wizarding world. I learned that the filthy magic of muggleborns was nothing to be scared of. I believe it was easier for me to see the truth because my mother had shielded me from most of the falsities in my youth at home. Rodolphus had not been so fortunate and had no interest in being swayed in another direction. But he and I still ran into each other. He would try to sway me to stop my associations with filth and creatures. He pleaded and cursed and shouted and pleaded again. But when my father died and our betrothal was suddenly no longer in place, he… He tried to claim what he believed was rightfully his. Surprisingly, it was Bellatrix who saved me. She cursed him and walked away, not even looking in my direction. She never acknowledged my existence again, until after their betrothal was announced. Well, no, now that I think about it, it was right before it was announced. She stormed into the greenhouses and hexed me from behind. My teeth suddenly started growing and wouldn’t stop and I had to be rushed to the hospital wing.”

“_Furnunculus_,” said Neville.   
Alice smiled. “Yes, that’s right. It was a horrible experience that frequented my dreams. But, I was probably lucky. Bellatrix had been getting crazier and crazier as the school years progressed. The girl who saved me was long buried under layers of insanity and she could have done far more damage to me at the time.”  
“So, are you saying she wasn’t always evil?” Neville asked.  
“No. She only saved me because I was another woman. At one point, Bellatrix was obsessed with feminine magic. She had made it her mission to put men in their place and delighted in hexing them in ways that could never harm a woman. Ironically, her curse on him that day is likely why he and she were never able to produce an heir.”  
“Is that why she hexed you?” asked Neville.  
Alice chuckled and shook her head. “Your father thought it was because she had to marry him. He believed she hexed me because I got out of it.”

Alice stared at her empty glass, rubbing her thumb across the rim. “When it came time to choose sides, I didn’t even have to think about it. And neither did Rodolphus. We, who once played hopscotch and Exploding Snap together, were now enemies. And though we were not married to each other, as if the Universe was laughing at us, we were married on the same day. We were in two different worlds and managed to avoid each other anytime the Death Eaters and the Order would do battle. But when I could no longer hide my pregnancy, Bellatrix was everywhere. Frank became so afraid, he pleaded with me to stay in hiding. But I wasn’t like Lily. I wouldn’t go stay inside and let the war happen without me. I thought the only way to protect you was to end the war. But the war wouldn’t end. You were born and it was still going. On and on and on. And then the Potters were murdered and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had fallen, and we were so happy. Only a hand full of Death Eaters remained at large, and your father and I were on a much-needed break from the Auror’s Office. The fear of what happened to James and Lily happening to us, though, wasn’t enough for us to keep our guard up. Ignorant of how far the remaining Death Eaters would go, we foolishly went to Diagon Alley…” Her voice cut off.

Alice quickly looked up. “Augusta! Were you able to unbind him?”  
Augusta’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Who? Is someone tied up?”  
“Me,” Neville said quietly. “She’s talking about me.”  
“You know?” asked Alice.  
Neville nodded his head. “But, I don’t know how it happened.”  
“What are you talking about?” Augusta asked quickly.

“That day,” said Alice, “when Bellatrix and Rodolphus, his brother, and Barty Crouch Jr. attacked us, Neville was with us.”  
“But the shopkeeper was able to apparate away with him,” said Augusta.   
“Not right away. Bless that man for risking his life to stay for my boy, but he wasn’t able to get Neville right away. And Bellatrix, trying to use Neville as bait, told Frank he had to tell them He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s location or she would bind my baby’s magic. But we didn’t know! We assumed he was dead. And Bellatrix cursed Neville. But,” she said, looking to Neville, “you know? Was Dumbledore able to set it right?”  
“I only just found out a year and a half ago.”  
“I don’t understand – you’ve been attending Hogwarts? Dumbledore would have seen it.”

“She didn’t bind my magic, mum. She bound _me_. She did something to my magic – lines?” he said, muttering the last word and glancing quickly at Professor McGonagall. “My friend Lu—, my friend is gifted with understanding magic and s—was able to realize that some outside magic had put a block on, well, basically, my essence. My friend explained that a wizard is more than his magic and even if magic is bound, he is still a wizard. What Bellatrix did, was try to hide the essence of my being a wizard from me. My friend helped me learn how to move past the block and, eventually, get rid of it.”  
“How did you do it?” asked Professor McGonagall, intrigued.  
“Lu—My friend taught me to meditate and then to see my essence when I was dreaming. It was a lot of complicated subjects, like Occlumency and even Apparation,” he said with a chuckle. “Sh—my friend explained that I would be looking into another plane and needed the same concentration that’s needed to apparate. Luckily, I was able to manage it eventually, even though I wasn’t ever able to get a knack for apparating. Since my friend … left… I focused on what she taught me and finally figured it out. Now I don’t have the anxiety I did all the time before. I know I’m a wizard now. Before, I was constantly sure everyone would realize I was a fraud and that I had somehow stolen my magic and wasn’t even a wizard. It was so much a part of me, Professor. People would tell me it was just my confidence, but I knew it was something bigger than that. Fortunately, Lu—my friend saw what it was. When I do magic now, I am not waiting for it to turn around and attack me. My draining conviction that I wasn’t an actual wizard is gone.”  
“She, your friend, sounds lovely,” said Alice. “I’m not sure how what your describing relates to what Bellatrix did. Perhaps, her spell expired. Or, she was bluffing. But it is very nice your friend was able to help you find your confidence in your magic.”   
Her tone was placating, as if talking to a small child, and Neville gave an uncomfortable looking smile and shrugged his shoulders. Professor McGonagall, after checking the time, cleared her thought.

“Were either you or your husband providing information to the Death Eaters?” Professor McGonagall asked.  
Augusta gasped and quickly stood, but Neville held his hand up. “It’s a necessary question, Grams.”

“Not on purpose!” Alice said urgently.   
Augusta froze. “What does that mean?” the older woman asked.  
But Alice was shaking her head back and forth.  
“Alice, you must answer,” McGonagall said sternly. 

“Her magic was like nothing I had ever seen before!” Alice sobbed. “She could make you believe you were seeing something, or someone, who wasn’t actually there. And I knew that! I knew it to be true! But Frank thought I just hated her, that I was exaggerating what she could do. But when she was torturing him, she mocked him for giving her so much information. He denied it. He denied it! But I could tell that he realized, then, what she had done. Somehow, she’d tricked him and made him think she was someone else. She just laughed at us. Laughed at how our weak minds would always see what we wanted; what our deepest desires were.” Alice wiped her face with the sleeve of her gown and sat up straight. “When we were stuck outside of ourselves, he confessed that he had moments where he felt confused and would have conversations with Albus Dumbledore. That he kept thinking it wasn’t him, but his eyes couldn’t focus and his mind kept telling him it really was Dumbledore.”

“How did you know she could do that, mum?” Neville asked. “You said you knew what she could do, but how?”  
“Did I say that?” Alice replied. “I’m suddenly very tired.”  
“Of course, dear,” said McGonagall, eyeing the other woman carefully. “Fleur was kind enough to prepare the bed in the loft.”

When Alice was out of sight, Neville rose from his seat and began pacing the room. “I’m sorry, Professor. I should have let you ask the questions. We ran out of time because of me.”  
“No, Neville,” said Professor McGonagall, “I am proud of you. We have learned a great deal tonight.”

“When did it wear off?” Augusta asked. “I don’t believe Frank would have fallen for some parlor trick spell.”  
“Grams, it is more than just a parlor trick.”  
“Do you know anything about this spell?” asked McGonagall.  
“She’s using it on students at Hogwarts. Padma is insane with whatever Bellatrix has convinced her she’s seeing. And Bellatrix tried to use it on Ron Weasley and he described something very similar.”  
“Tried?” snorted Augusta. “If that boy could avoid it, so could my son! Frank wasn’t so weak!” Augusta said harshly.

“That boy is my brother and is, too often, not given his due respect,” said Bill Weasley calmly, as he leaned in the doorway to the cottage. “He has battled monsters alongside Harry Potter and has confronted more Dark Arts with firsthand experience than even the most learned of wizards. His reaction to a possible spell from Bellatrix says nothing about your son, it only speaks for his own experiences.”

Augusta sat back down and waved her hand in a weak apology.  
“Do you know if there are more?” McGonagall asked Neville after giving Bill an appreciative nod.  
“Theodore Nott said she looked like his mother,” Neville answered. “That she tried to get him to join the Death Eaters by making him believe that his mother wanted him to. I only know about Ron because of Ginny. She said that he explained something like that when they were working at the Twins’ shop. And we suspect Astoria Greengrass is under a spell, too.”

The Professor nodded her head, her expression unreadable. “We need to return to Hogwarts. Are you prepared to be seen again?”  
“Seen again?” asked Bill.  
“Mr. Longbottom is leading a group of hooligans against the school. It is quite extraordinary. But, they have managed to remain hidden in the castle and avoid capture.”

Augusta sat up straighter and beamed at her grandson. “That’s the Longbottom in you,” she said proudly.  
Neville seemed oblivious to his grandmother’s comments and answered Professor McGonagall. “I’m working on a plan. I’ve realized that Luna left some breadcrumbs.”

“What a lovely witch that girl is,” said Fleur, emerging from behind her husband. Turning to McGonagall she continued. “My cousins are ‘ere. They will stand guard. They want to know what to do should she try to escape?”

“Stun her,” said Neville. “I told her we weren’t going to lock her up, but she’s still keeping secrets. Until we know what she’s up to…” he stopped and looked at his grandmother. Augusta nodded her head.  
“Until she’s up front with us,” he continued, “we have to assume she isn’t on our side.”

Bill approached Neville and placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “War ages us.”  
“Will she forgive me?” Neville asked.  
“She was an Auror,” answered Augusta. “She should understand better than most.”  
Neville blinked slowly and let out his breath. “She just woke up from a nightmare, though. To a war that never actually ended.”  
“Does she know that?” asked Fleur.

Augusta nodded. “I gave her a very bare bones run down of the state of the world.”  
“I fear,” said McGonagall, “that she has learned as much from us as we have from her.”

* * *

Theo stared at his friend in uncomfortable silence and noted the cloak pins keeping Blaise’s well-tailored robes closed; a snake and skull. Blaise had sent him an urgent message to meet with him in the garden maze. They were invisible to anyone in the castle, but Theo couldn’t deny his old friend this rendezvous. 

“I am not looking to trick you,” Blaise said, setting his wand on the ground in front of him. “I just need someone to talk to.”

_Blaise is an unknown_. Draco’s words echoed through Theo’s head and he motioned for Blaise to continue. “Bellatrix scares the hell out of me,” said Blaise. “And whatever she is setting Astoria up to do is most likely a coup against the Dark Lord.”  
“I thought Bellatrix was infatuated with him,” said Theo. “She makes it her mission to be his most loyal servant.”  
“I think she’s got multiple personalities, or something,” Blaise said. Theo noted how serious the other man was. “One moment she is urging Crabbe, Goyle and McLaggen to practice their wand work so that they can impress the Dark Lord and the next she is whisking Astoria and the Patil twins away to some unknown training grounds. But she never takes the girls to meet with the Dark Lord. And they have no interest in meeting him, anyway! They only want to impress the Most High Inquisitor.”

Theo bit back his snigger at the new title Bellatrix had claimed. _Most_ High Inquisitor. A truly toad-like move. “Are you going to warn the Dark Lord?” he asked his friend. _Blaise is an unknown._   
“Of course, I am,” Blaise answered. “I won’t bow down to a mad woman.”

Theo felt his stomach tighten at his old friend’s words. “Why are you talking to me about this? Why not the Carrows? Or the Headmaster?”  
Blaise smirked, his eyes narrowing. “I had to keep you out of the castle for a few minutes.”

Theo’s confusion must have been evident because Blaise began to laugh. “Astoria has finally accepted that you are never going to willingly marry her. And she has agreed to marry me. But, I must grant her one favor before she will make it official.”

“What favor?” asked Theo, dread welling.   
“Which witch will you save, Theo? Daphne? Or Pansy?”  
“What?” he asked.  
“It’s not a hard question. Not really. Just pick a name and save her from a horrible fate.”  
“What? Blaise, what are you talking about?” Even as Theo asked, he knew, though. But denial was already stamping down his confusion. “Why are you doing this? They’re your friends, Blaise,” Theo said desperately. “I am your friend!”

Blaise held up his wand, and Theo looked quickly to the ground. A stick lay where the wand had been a moment before. “You’re a fool. And I hold no friendship with fools,” Blaise said.   
“How?” Theo asked, not even sure which question of how he was asking. _How_ had he thought the twig was a wand? _How_ had he been so foolish as to give Blaise a chance? _How_ had their friendships crumbled? 

“Do you honestly think we haven’t noticed you aren’t one of us?” Blaise said. “Just like the Gryffindors, you’re missing from the castle. You chose your side and it isn’t mine. Daphne and Pansy stand with you and Draco, so they aren’t worthy of my protection. So, Theo, who do you save? The witch you’ve loved for years? Or the witch whose been your best friend for as long as I can remember?”  
“Blaise, please!” Theo said. “How do I save them?”  
“I will tell you which direction to head in order to save one. That is the only clue you will receive.”

Theo felt his chest tighten and his denial was replaced by fear. Who? Who could he save?   
“Who can I actually save?” he whispered.

Blaise smiled. “Neither.”  
“Are they going to die?” Theo cried out. 

Suddenly, loud screams filled the courtyard and Theo turned towards the sound.   
“I guess I kept you distracted longer than I should have,” said Blaise behind him, without a trace of sorrow in his voice. But his words were already fading before he had finished, Theo having made a run towards the screaming voices.

“She’s dead!” screamed a student he didn’t recognize. “She’s been cut to pieces!”

Theo came to an abrupt halt at the sight of long, blonde curls seeming to float in a bright red puddle. He fleetingly thought of Daphne, before he reminded himself that she no longer had any hair. 

“Who is it?” asked another voice.  
“Lavender Brown,” he heard Ginny’s pained voice. He turned to her and felt his knees give out.   
“Ginny?” he asked and she looked at him, surprised.   
“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice angry. “Daphne and Pansy were in a horrible state when they overheard Malcom Baddock say you’d been taken near the Slytherin Common Room.”  
“Where are they, Ginny?” he said.  
“I don’t know. They went looking for you.”

“It was a set up. I was distracted by Blaise to get me out of the castle. He said I had to choose who to save, but then he told me that I wouldn’t really be able to save either one of them.”

Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him with her into a run towards the castle.   
“What happened to Lavender?” he asked. “Who did that to her?”  
“Cormac,” she said. “He didn’t even hide it.”  
“Why?” he asked no longer needing Ginny to guide him to the Room of Hidden Things.   
Ginny came to a stop outside where the door to the Room should have been. “I don’t know,” she said. “Lavender wasn’t staying here anymore.”

Theo felt shame. He hadn’t noticed. Outside of his immediate group, he tried to keep to himself to avoid unnecessary discomfort. Only a few of the students hidden here had warmed up to the Slytherins. Lavender Brown had not been one of those students. But, he hadn’t tried with her, either.

“Parvati was her best friend,” Ginny said. “It really hurt her when Parvati and Padma joined the Inquisitorial Squad. I think she was trying to convince Parvati to come back to our side.”

Theo looked up and down the hallway before nodding to Ginny. Together, they paced outside the room until the door appeared, and quickly made their way inside. The place was gigantic, with giant hammocks hanging from the ceilings. Theo scanned the room, looking for any sign of Pansy or Daphne, but he found none.

“Seamus!” Ginny hollered. “Are the snakelets here?”  
The young man shook his head and eyed both Ginny and Theo carefully before slowly walking over to them.   
“Are any of the ghosts nearby?” Ginny asked.  
“Oi! Colin! Who’s the ghost today?” Seamus Finnigan called over to the small blonde boy. 

Theo had become accustomed to the yelling. It seemed the primary way the other houses, outside of Ravenclaw, preferred to communicate in the room. A part of him could appreciate it, actually. Considering how quietly they had to move around the castle so as not to be caught in their attacks against the Death Eaters roaming the halls.

Colin never needed to answer. A long, miserable sounding wail filled the room and a shimmering ghost flew out of the latrine area.   
“No one remembers when it’s my turn on duty!” wailed Moaning Myrtle. “Who would want to remember, ugly Moaning Myrtle?”

“Pansy and Daphne are missing and in danger,” Ginny said quickly, before Myrtle could get rolling in her misery. “Theo was told neither had a chance of being saved. Lavender Brown is dead.”

The murmured conversations in the room came to a stop and many of the students stood at full attention. Theo anticipated Myrtle’s declarations of how wonderful death was and how the girls could join her here, but he was surprised. Instead the ghost hurriedly flew through the walls, out of the Room of Requirement and was back in just a few short moments.

“The portraits were waiting with news,” Myrtle said. “Daphne is with her sister and the Patil Twins on the southern outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Pansy is with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle in the dungeons. Cormac McLaggen was with them, but left when Lavender Brown found them.” The ghost paused and Theo realized she seemed to be taking a moment of silence for the fallen witch. “Lavender chose the Veil and we cannot ask her what happened. I really didn’t want to share my toilet with her, so I’m glad for her.”

Theo was desperate. He didn’t know where to go. But his need to decide was paused momentarily when the lone portrait in the room, disconnected from the rest in the castle, swung open and Neville Longbottom stepped out from behind it.   
“Seems we have the answer to our food problem,” Neville said, but his smile quickly faded when he took in the expressions of those in the room.  
“What’s happened?” he asked, quickly approaching Ginny.  
“Lavender’s dead,” she said, unable to hide the ache in her voice. “Pansy and Daphne have been taken prisoner.”

Things moved quickly from there. Neville and Ginny formed two teams and without taking the time to consider his actions, Theo joined Neville and the team headed to the Forbidden Forest with Moaning Myrtle floating by his side. 

* * *

The shimmering ribbons had disappeared, but the memory of them would haunt him for the rest of his life. However long that ended up being. He felt crippled, now. He had harnessed power he would desperately want to use again and again, but it was a power not meant for him.

“What did it look like for you?”

Harry jerked at the question, his thoughts interrupted by Luna’s delicate voice. He watched as she approached him. He was sitting by a tree on the shore, lingering instincts from his earlier experience letting him know the place was important. Or, that it could have been important, somehow, if they’d followed different _strings_, as Luna called them.

Luna was still wearing the yellow dress she’d borrowed from Fleur. It was delicate and had outlines of flowers along the neckline. Harry was sure there was a proper name for the details of it, but he had no clue what it would be. He pushed the thought aside and focused on the usual relief at the sight of Luna. It had intrigued Harry; how good he had always felt around her. As if the weight of the world was more manageable and it was okay to live in the moment every now and then. 

But he was upset with her. She’d known all along that Malfoy could be trusted. And all Luna had given Harry were vague questions. 

She sat down next to him, a safe distance away. “Your strings are a mystery to me, Harry. I can see my own making their way to you, and they disappear in a dark mass around your head. And I see yours, but they jumble up and cord around the darkness and I can’t see which line goes where.”

“It looked like transparent ribbons in a rainbow of color,” Harry said, answering her earlier question. “Why didn’t you just come out and tell me about Malfoy?”  
Luna lifted her knees to her chest as she sat. “Because I can’t see what your strings are doing. But I can see his and it wasn’t what he needed.” Her words were spoken softly. But Harry was in the mood for a fight.  
“Dumbledore might be alive if I’d known,” Harry bit out.  
“Professor Dumbledore was dead before that night, Harry. The horcrux had already killed him. I am not going to fight with you. I’m not your enemy or your whacking sack.”

Harry closed his eyes and released the tightness in his chest in a slow exhale. “I take you for granted. You and Hermione.”  
“Do you know why?”  
“I feel safe with you both.” Harry quickly stood and looked down at her. “But Hermione is like my sister and the thought of you as a sister makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to think of you like that.” He kicked the ground and shot rocks and sand into the water with the motion. “And when I was with Ginny, it was because I was hungry for something. Hungry for a memory of something I can’t pinpoint. And now I don’t know if any of it was ever real.”

“Don’t throw away your love for her just because it’s changed. You two shared something special and your emotions were honest.”

“Is it only me who has darkness over my head? Is there something wrong with me?” Harry asked hurriedly.  
Luna held her breath for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said.

Luna rested her chin on her knees and watched as Harry continued to kick the ground. The darkness over his head frightened her. As she had become more proficient in her magic and given in to her instincts on how to use it, her naïve feeling of safety around him had vanished. Her third eye no longer automatically snapped shut and blind to the other plane when she looked at him but, instead, kept reaching out to investigate the darkness. Luna knew that it would kill her, though. Whatever was contained in that mass was malicious. But, she also knew she had to see what was coming for them and so she would never feel safe to close all of her magic off around that darkness again.

“What did it feel like?” she asked Harry. “When you were able to use your Oculi Somniantes?”  
Harry stopped and looked back at her. Slowly, he sat down next to her and Luna felt the darkness recede as his strings pushed out towards her. She watched her own move towards his and was pleased to see that several were cording together. 

“I felt weightless. And I felt like I was wading in mud at the same time,” he answered. “How did you do it? How did you remove the Dark Mark from Malfoy’s arm? I don’t see how you could have done that at all.”  
“Harry…” Luna began, unsure what to say.  
“I knew things when I was submerged in it,” Harry said. “I could see Hermione’s and Draco’s ribbons and I knew they had kissed. I knew they are going to do it again. I knew that they have the ability to love each other and that it will all be okay if they do. I knew Fleur is going to be pregnant soon. I knew that Bill is going get us into Gringotts. And I knew there is no way, and has never been a way, that what I was experiencing could do anything more than _know._ So, how did you do that?”

“Hermione is the only one I have told,” Luna said. “Professor Snape suspects. Narcissa Malfoy knows.”  
Harry waited. Luna stared at him and watched his lines as they sat so closely together. He was opening himself up to her. She didn’t know if it was because he was so fresh out of the other plane, or if he was recognizing the darkness now. Whatever he was doing, however, was pushing the darkness away. It was still there, she could feel it, still. But it was contained.

“Knows what, Luna?” he asked. His question was gentle and Luna watched as his hand reached out and grabbed hers. She filtered her inner eye just in time, allowing her other senses to heighten and help keep track of the magic around them. It had taken a great deal of practice to weave her own lines in order to keep her eye awake and not expose anyone to the other plane by accident.   
“That I can do more than just see the lines. I can move them,” said Luna and she felt Harry’s hand twitch in hers.   
“What does that mean?” he asked.

And Luna knew that he was going to be disappointed. She watched his face as excitement blossomed.   
“Harry, no,” she said quickly. “No, I know what you’re hoping for and I can’t do it. Just like you knew what those ribbons could mean, I know what my altering them can mean. The Dark Mark was an unnatural stain on Draco. It was an assault on his magical essence, so I was allowed to remove it. But I can’t reach out and rip out You-Know-Who’s life line so he falls down dead. That would be far more dangerous than his winning this war.”

“How could anything be worse than that?” Harry asked, pulling his hand away. He seemed to be trying desperately to tamper down his anger and confusion, and Luna was grateful to him.  
“Professor Trelawney was terrified of my gift,” Luna said. “And I think a part of her feared what I might be able to do and what that could mean if I don’t respect the magic.”

“Luna, I don’t understand,” Harry said.   
“Witches and wizards lost the ability to use their Oculi Somniantes because they didn’t respect the rules. The ghosts can see the rules of our magic world and even they fear the lines. If I misuse my gift, I risk all of our magic.”

Harry sat stunned. His own burdens felt lighter as he watched Luna search for the words to explain what she was responsible for.  
“What is the point of being able to move the lines if you aren’t supposed to move them?” he asked her. “Why have this gift if you aren’t supposed to use it?” He watched her frown and hated to add to her stress.   
“I know when I’m supposed to use it,” she said. “I have to be heedful of my knowing as opposed to my wish to use it. Right now, I am tempted to try to pull the darkness away from you. But I know that doing that would kill us both and have far reaching costs I can’t see. I’m curious to see what your lines are up to behind that barrier, but I know doing that would be the wrong use of my gift.”

She laid her temple on her knees, her arms wrapped around her shins and watched him process what she’d said. Harry watched her blue eyes shimmer and he knew she was reading the lines again. 

“What is this darkness?” he asked, but Luna just lifted her shoulders.  
Her expression was sad. “I have my ideas, but I know I shouldn’t share them with you,” she said.

“Do you think I’ll survive this war?” Harry asked.  
Once again Luna lifted her shoulders. “I hope you do,” she said. “I hope we all do.”  
Harry sighed. “That doesn’t seem very likely. Unless someone were to pull some strings.” At her sad expression, he touched her shoulder. “It was a joke, Luna. I was going for humor.”

“We will all be at the battle, when you face him,” she said. “I am going to Hogwarts tomorrow.”  
“No.” Harry’s response was instinctual, out of his mouth before he’d registered the thought.

Luna sat up and removed Harry’s hand from her shoulder, pulling it to her lips and kissing the back of it quickly before dropping it back in his lap. But Harry wouldn’t let her hand go. He caught it back in his and shook his head at her.

“No, Luna.”  
“I don't think you get to tell me what I can do,” she answered.  
“I feel better with you around. I –”  
She cut him off. “Right now, you’re thinking about what my gift can do for you.”

Her words hurt. But they hurt because there was truth in them. “You’re right,” he confessed. “But I want you safe. If you go back there, you’re not safe.”  
“Nowhere is safe anymore. I have already stayed here too long.”  
“You sound like Malfoy.”  
“Draco was helping me. He and Theo, Pansy and Daphne were helping us keep students safe at Hogwarts. And my lines are being tugged back there with increasing urgency.”

Harry nodded. “I saw those,” he said. “Thin little bits of string that didn’t look like the rest. And they were attached to the group of us here and then there were other ones that, I knew, were headed off to other people. Neville had one, too, when he was here. And all of those little lines attach to you.”

Luna smiled brightly. “I don’t just move lines, Harry. I am called a Weaver; I can weave them, too,” she said, her tone sounding delighted. “Don’t lose your butterbeer cork. The darkness was hiding it from me, but the line I tied to that cork leads me in the general direction of where you are. It was the first one I wove. At first, because yours acts so strangely, I didn’t think it worked properly, so only Ginny and Neville had them until I handed them out to the group here.”

“Why not just tie the lines directly to us? Why use the corks?”  
“Your lines are your own. I have no right messing with your actual strings.”

Harry smiled at her, finding joy in the moment of her sharing something she could be proud of; of her seeming more herself. And then her words replayed in his head.  
“Outside of those of us here, only Neville and Ginny have them?” he asked Luna. “Ginny’s in danger?”  
Luna shook her head. “Not, yet,” she said. “Though the pull is pressing, I have time, so I will rest tonight. I know that is what I should do, though I find it tempting to hurry back.”

Harry helped Luna to her feet and walked her back to the cottage. He felt a pull and, whether a leftover memory of what her gift felt like or wishful thinking, he decided to follow it. Without asking her permission, he joined her in her room and tucked her into her bed. And when he turned to leave, he let her hand that had suddenly grasped his own, tug him down beside her. And together they slept until the morning sun shown through the window and Harry awoke to the morning alone.

* * *

“Buried under her unkempt hair and rotting teeth is a witch who knows she’s a woman,” Draco said as he watched Hermione Granger attempt to imitate his aunt Bella. She looked a little ridiculous, with her nose in the air and her hips rigid, and he was trying not to laugh. “She’s not ashamed of her body or how she looks. She’s proud of being a witch and knows how powerful she is.”

Hermione turned to Draco and he saw the doubt on her face. “You do know what an incredible witch you are, right?” he asked her. “And how many wizards have fantasized about snogging you in the library?”

Hermione just snorted. “The only wizards fantasizing about me are the ones who like me for my personality. And there is nothing wrong with that! Bellatrix is horrid and has the personality of a dried-out slug covered in a Kneazle hair ball. Anyway, what I look like won’t matter because I’ll be polyjuiced to look like her.”  
“And no one at Gringotts would think about Polyjuice potion?” he sighed. “You have to act like her. Not just the evil witch who hexes anyone in her path. You have to move like her. Think like her. Be her.”

Hermione’s body language betrayed her and Draco knew she was afraid. This was such a bad idea. “Tell me again why I can’t just pretend to be her,” he asked. “Why does it have to be you?”

He’d asked the wrong question; he could see it immediately. She threw the wand across the garden and turned away from him. “I know you can do this, that’s not what I’m saying,” he said, trying to save the situation. He heard her snort at him and he pulled his hands through his hair. “All right, maybe I am saying that. But can you really blame me? She tortured you and now you have to hold the wand she did it with! I was there. I had to watch and there was nothing I could do about it!”

The witch in front of him turned quickly to face him and he stepped back. “No, this isn’t about me,” he said to her. “Don’t you dare come over here and try to make me feel better. We are talking about what happened to you.”  
“I don’t want to talk about it, then,” she snapped.  
“I do. I do because it’s what you need!”  
“I am fine, Draco. Not a single nightmare. No flashbacks or shakes. The only lingering side effect is my hair.”  
“You’re in shock.”  
“I don’t think that’s it. My shock crashed after the storm.”  
“Granger, I know you are incredibly bright, but that won’t protect you from what she did to you. I have been there. I have been on the other side of that wand, feeling her fury rip through my bones. I have been there, thinking that I would die in my own waste and it would be a relief. I have been there, hoping that she would die a horrible death. That her head would explode and the madness inside of her would scurry out like rats.”  
“Then why should you pretend to be her over me?”  
“Because she’s been in my life since third year.”

He watched as Hermione bit her lip. “Show me,” she said.  
“What?”  
“If you think you can be her, show me how she walks. You can’t just mock her, you’d have to really do it.”

Draco stalked over to the discarded wand and picked it up. Ignoring the fear he felt at the sight of the wand, he held it delicately in his fingers and twirled around to face Hermione. He let his head feel weightless and kept his shoulders straight, but relaxed. He tried to act as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but that nothing would ever escape his attention.

“You look insane,” said Hermione. But she was watching him critically and he knew it wasn’t a jab. “But you still look like a man.”  
“Polyjuice, as you said, would fix that problem.”  
“No, your twirl was manly.”  
“Well, your hips were rigid. And Bella does not stick her nose in the air. She manages to look down on everyone, even those towering over her.”

He tried not to laugh when Hermione tried to look down at him. It really was too serious a situation to be laughing about. But he felt the twitch of his lips and the burn of her eye when she saw it before he could hide it.

Hermione snatched the wand from Draco’s fingers and twirled. He cringed. That was better. Much better. She kept at it, loosening her hips and relaxing her neck. And then she looked at him and he wanted to cry. She’d found her inner Hellatrix. 

The lovely girl that he’d found sanctuary with was looking at him as if he were a tool to be used. He felt his head move in denial and he stepped away from her. And then her face relaxed and she reached out.   
“Draco?”

Hermione Granger’s voice. Her face. Her beautiful brown eyes and her pink lips.   
He let out his breath and heard a nervous chuckle escape his mouth. “I think you’ve got it now, he said. “At least the look.”

“What else is there?” Hermione asked.  
“The confidence. Bella believes herself to be the best. Second only to the Dark Lord.”  
“Draco, I am a very skilled witch.”

He smiled. “Yes. But her confidence stems from more than just knowing she can do magic. She sees herself as one with magic. Her whole countenance is tied to her identity as a witch. Not just someone who can do magic, but a woman who was not only chosen by magic, but anointed by it.”  
“Are you talking about sex?”

Unbidden, the thought of Hermione naked crossed his mind. “Maybe?” he asked and Hermione laughed.  
“You are making it sound like Bellatrix either thinks she is a goddess or that she gets randy when it comes to magic.”  
Draco sniggered. “Well, that actually sounds about right. We already know you’re a goddess,” he said, laying on all of his obvious charm and winking at her, “so now we just need to get you randy.”

She didn’t laugh and Draco suddenly felt nervous. “I was joking, Granger,” he said quickly.   
“You don’t want me randy?” she asked.   
He didn’t know how to respond and she smirked at him. 

She was baiting him, he realized. “That’s usually my thing,” he said and she nodded at him, still smirking.  
“Are you a virgin?” he asked her. He’d been dying to know, but even he realized it was a tactless question to ask.   
Fortunately, Hermione Granger was not afraid of blunt conversations.  
“Yes, but not inexperienced.” 

She strolled over to the bench at the edge of the garden and sat down. Draco was right behind her and felt the tingling happiness at sitting down beside her. It was more commonplace, now, to sit by her. But now his first thoughts weren’t about when it all would end or when she would realize how better off she would be without him. Now his first thoughts were how lucky he was. How excited he was to see where all of this was going.

“What does that mean?” he asked.  
Hermione bit her lip and he smiled.   
“Who, then?” he asked instead. “Who have you had ‘experience’ with?”  
“That’s a nosey question,” she said.  
“Yes, but I still want to know.”  
Her laugh was lovely and he smiled with her. “I have had sex before,” he said.   
She nodded her head. “Yes, I am aware.”

“Was it a good experience, at least?” he asked.  
“What?”  
“I want to know how far you’ve willingly gone so I know what my boundaries are, okay?”  
“I don’t understand your question.”  
“McLaggen? Remember him? At Slughorn’s party? He was your date and he’s a real nonce…”

He felt her tense beside him and he was ready to head back to Hogwarts and slit McLaggen’s throat.  
“He kissed me without my permission,” she said. “But when he wouldn’t stop, I kicked him in his bits and got away from him.”  
Draco smiled.   
“What were you doing with him that night?” Hermione asked him.

Draco thought about skirting the question, but decided to just be honest with her instead. He was always going to be honest with her going forward. “Hexing his ass,” he said.

“What?” Hermione asked.  
“He really did say all of those things, Granger,” Draco bit out. “I was hiding behind the tapestry and he was mumbling to himself. And when he said your name and how he was going to show you how to behave with a wizard. I should have known, then, that you’d gotten under my skin. But I lost it and went on the attack. I honestly don’t know what I would have done to him if Filch hadn’t happened upon us.”  
“Did you get any good hexes on him?” she asked. “He looked fine at the party.”

She sounded disappointed and Draco bit out a laugh. “His – what did you call them? Bits?”  
Hermione nodded.  
“Yes, well,” he said, “his bits were not fine. A nasty little spell I learned from Aunt Bella. His family tree ends with him.”

Hermione laughed and then tried to hide behind her hands.   
“That is horrible!” she said, but the laughter remained in her words. They laughed together for a short while until she spoke again.  
“Viktor Krum,” she said.  
“Pardon?”  
“He was my experience,” she said. “I’ve kissed a few boys, but Viktor took things a little farther with me.”  
“You were just a girl!” Draco hissed.  
“I was not! I was a teenager. And we didn’t have sex, Draco. I just had a delightful little orgasm from his fingers.”

She was laughing again and the tinge of jealousy that had settled in his chest floated away. She was sitting here, laughing with him about her innocent sexual escapades because they were defining where they were going. She was trusting him with her private experiences and he had every intention of participating in her next ones.

He found himself staring at her smile and he lifted his thumb to touch her bottom lip.   
“This isn’t just me hoping for this?” he asked her. “You want where we’re headed?”  
Hermione nodded once and he leaned into her until their lips touched. She opened her mouth for him and he felt the soft heat of her tongue greet his. His hand was in her hair and she still felt too far away, so he lifted her so he could cradle her across his lap. 

His heart was beating fiercely and he felt his excitement grow as she moaned into their kiss and changed her position to straddle him. He reminded himself to follow her lead for now and decided he could kiss her forever. 

But then her hand was on his waistband and her thumb was playing with the button and he felt like he might explode right there. 

“Hermione! Malfoy!” called the irritatingly familiar voice of Harry Potter. 

Hermione was off Draco’s lap in a heartbeat, her hair already being swept into a bun.  
“Harry?” she called, her voice high pitched and nervous.

And he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t even think to try. Draco looked at the nervous girl at his side, the opposite of his horrifying aunt, and burst into laughter. At her indignant look, he kissed her quickly and rose from the bench to make his way back to the cottage. 

She was at his side soon enough, her small hand in his. And when he looked down at her she was smiling. So, he pecked her on the lips again, ignoring Harry Potter’s laughter from the porch. 

Potter was waiting for them, not seeming remotely phased by their rapid progression from enemies to something more than friends. He just nodded his greeting and, his expression becoming serious, motioned them inside.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked.  
“Oh, just a little bank robbery,” Harry answered and Draco, again, had the fleeting thought of taking Hermione Granger away from all this.

He would have, too, if he weren’t absolutely confident she would kick him in his bits if he did.


	27. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depictions of murder, sexual assault, abuse, and negligence

Theo couldn’t be sure how much time had passed since his encounter with Blaise. When he tried to think about his conversation with his former friend, it felt like a lifetime ago. Now, the moon was high in the sky and a coldness had settled on the grounds. Theo was just behind Neville Longbottom as the Gryffindor led the small group of students towards the Forbidden Forest. Seamus Finnigan and Hannah Abbott were following just behind Theo. The ground crunched beneath their feet, the sound seeming to echo up to the dark blue sky above, and Theo couldn’t shake the feeling that the carefree days he used to know would never be again. He shivered. Perhaps from the chill in the air or, possibly, from the presence at his side. Floating next to him was Myrtle, uncharacteristically quiet, and he watched her from the corner of his eye. He had never heard of ghosts behaving as the Hogwarts ghosts were behaving lately: as if they had something to die for.   
  
The unlikely group made their way to the Southern outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, on their way to attempt to rescue Daphne. Theo swallowed with difficulty. Daphne was in danger, but so was Pansy. And he’d had to choose. Did he choose poorly? Would Pansy forgive him? Would he forgive himself if something happened to her? Would Pansy have forgiven him if he’d abandoned Daphne?  
  
Theo shook his head and tried to pay attention to his surroundings. The plant life seemed to be glowing as they neared the forest. The usual green leaves were a symphony of color tonight, shimmering in blue and purple reflections from the moon above. And, in the distance, an orange glow illuminated the path they would follow, as if leading them towards a small sun in the darkness. It was impossible to miss the dancing shadows of elongated figures with pointed hats, beating the ground and raising their arms back up to the skies. Hissing whispers drowned out the sound of the group’s approaching feet and Theo forced himself to breathe.   
  
Was Daphne alive? The image of Lavender Brown flashed across his memories. Her body had been covered in slashes and her skin had been blue. Would Daphne look like that? Did Pansy?  
  
Myrtle jutted quickly in front of the group, floating high above the trees and making her way to the light ahead. Neville held his hand up, motioning for Theo, Seamus and Hannah to stop; the four students waited quietly for Myrtle’s return.   
  
Theo couldn’t imagine his life without Daphne. She’d been there for everything and he’d always just assumed she would be there for everything yet to come. He felt his chest tighten in fear at the thought she may be dead, crumpled in a bleeding heap by the rising fire they were headed for. He had to know; he couldn’t wait any longer!  
  
Theo started forward, but his path was suddenly inhibited by the appearance of Myrtle floating slowly towards the group.   
“Daphne is alive,” the ghost said. “She has her hair back, too.”  
Theo exhaled and felt his heartbeat settle.   
“Is she all right, then?” Neville asked. “Or are they torturing her?”  
“They are all just sitting and giggling together,” she answered in a bored tone. “I’m not even sure why we’re racing to them. They might as well be drinking tea and eating biscuits.”  
  
Theo looked ahead and watched the shadows continue to jerkily move along the path. “Why are the shadows dancing?” he asked, “If they’re sitting together quietly, what’s making all that movement?”  
  
The ghost of the Ravenclaw looked to the path but shook her head. “I don’t see any shadows,” she said, her voice fast and high.  
“They’re there,” said Hannah. “Theo’s right, something’s causing those shadows to be there.”  
“Magic can’t be hidden from ghosts,” the ghost replied, her tone almost snide. “But why would you believe Moaning Myrtle? Myrtle’s too stupid to know what she sees, she’s just scared,” she continued, “but there isn’t anything to be scared of. They’re all friends up there. The sisters have made their amends, it would seem.”  
“If magic can’t be hidden from ghosts, what can be?” asked Seamus. “Because I see them, too.”  
  
Abruptly, the ghost snarled, her teeth bared. “Away with you!” she hollered. “Leave them to their ministrations and go find Parkinson!”  
  
Theo reached forward and grabbed the ghost by her wrist, barely cognizant of his lack of surprise when he touched solid form. “Which one are you?” he hissed as his comrades came to attention, their wands out.  
  
“It’s Padma!” called a voice from above. Theo recognized it to be Myrtle’s. “Daphne is under some kind of spell, a _Petrificus Totalus_, I imagine,” said the ghost, “and the other Gryffindor and the Slytherin are digging in the dirt with their bare hands, looking for who knows what.”  
  
At the sound of her name, the illusion faded like billowing smoke, and Padma stood before them. She tried to pull her wrist from Theo’s grasp, but he wouldn’t loosen his hold.  
“How did she do that?” Hannah whispered. Padma smirked in Hannah’s direction and pulled on her wrist again.   
  
For the briefest of moments, Theo felt like he was holding cold air, and then Padma was several feet ahead of them, her red lips open wide in a delighted expression.   
“Oh, Theo,” she said. “Now she’ll know you came. There’ll be no convincing her you aren’t in love with her sister now.”  
  
“Of course, I love Daphne. She’s like family to me.”   
But Padma wasn’t looking at him any longer. Her focus was solely on the spirit above their heads. “You ratted me out?” she said to Myrtle. “I’m a Ravenclaw and you revealed me to them?”  
Seeming unable to find the words she wanted, Myrtle stuck her tongue out at Padma and floated behind Neville.   
  
Theo would no longer be distracted by their conversation, however, and with a loud yell rushed towards the Ravenclaw before them, his wand pointed straight at her face. Padma’s wand was ready at her side, but she made no move to stop his attack. Instead, she started to laugh and turned her back to Theo, seeming unconcerned that he would overcome her. To Theo’s growing frustration, her confidence wasn’t misplaced and he wasn’t able to catch up to her. He pushed forward, but the faster he tried to move, the further away from him she was.   
  
Distantly, he heard the others calling his name, but his focus was solely on the dark-haired witch. Her shadow stretched out before him to join the other shadows ahead, its motion perfectly blending with theirs. The whispers grew louder as he neared the yellow light, and soon he could no longer hear his comrades.   
  
When he reached the bonfire that had brightened the path, Astoria and the Patil sisters were before him, strange staccato sounds coming from their throats, and they seemed to be dragging their fingers through the dirt and mud of the forest floor. They had seen him, but appeared to consider him as nothing more than a miniscule fly in a rather large room. Daphne was frozen behind them, the fire separating her from the rest. She did have her hair again, but it was longer, much longer, its length almost touching the ground. Theo felt sick. Something wasn’t right with the strands. He bypassed the three witches and stood in front of his friend. Her beautiful golden hair had become a binding around her body. She wasn’t frozen, she was immobilized by the tight hold that the thousands of separate strands had tide her in.  
  
“What have they done to you?” he asked her.  
Daphne only blinked her eyes, her expression one of misery.   
  
“She can’t answer you,” Astoria said behind him. “She must remain perfectly still, or the placings around her will suffocate her.”  
“Release her, Astoria! She’s your sister!”  
“Padma and Parvati are my sisters,” Astoria bit back at him. “Daphne was a responsibility I have rid myself of. I will no longer claim the name of Greengrass.”  
  
“Yes,” answered Theo. “Zabini will be your new name.”  
“Jealous?” she asked.   
  
Theo bit back his retort. “Astoria,” he began, “I will do whatever you ask of me, but please let Daphne go unharmed.”  
“Sounds like love to me,” she said quietly.   
Theo couldn’t identify the emotion behind her words. “You know I love her. You were there, too. Our families associated together all of the time. We grew up together!”  
“She had her time with you, don’t you see?” said Astoria. “It was always you two finding ways to get away from her pestering little sister. It was my turn at Hogwarts and she never stopped! She had her chance, but she and Pansy never let me have mine!”  
Theo shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Astoria frowned and stepped back to join Padma and Parvati. Standing together, the three witches began their clipped incantations again. Only this time, Theo realized that they were casting spells in a language he was not familiar with.   
  
“What are you saying?” he yelled. “What are you doing?”  
He turned back to Daphne and watched in alarm as her hair seemed to grow even longer and wrap around her body, her limbs and then her neck.  
“NO!” Theo screamed.  
  
Theo moved directly in front of Astoria and pulled her towards him. He leaned down and kissed her as deeply as he could muster, allowing her to invade his mouth with her warm tongue. He felt her lift her hands to his shoulders, but instead of wrapping them around him in a delighted embrace, she pushed him away.   
  
“Oh no, you, stupid little boy. We are far past that now.”  
Padma laughed behind her and Theo tried to make eye contact with Parvati. She had helped them before, perhaps she would help them again. But she avoided his gaze.   
  
Theo anxiously looked towards the opening in the clearing where he had come upon the three witches, but he saw no one there. He looked up, hoping to see Myrtle, but the dark canopy above him was illuminated only by the stars in the sky. Even the moon seemed to have abandoned him.  
  
“What do you want, then, Astoria?” he asked, his frustration bubbling in his words.   
“To bind your magic,” Astoria said.  
  
Padma stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. “For the Most High Inquisitor,” she added.  
Theo watched Astoria and noticed her hesitation at Padma’s words.   
“No, Padma,” he said, “I think Astoria is making her own plans.” He tried to step back, but found that he couldn’t. Looking down, he saw shimmering gold thread around his legs and he realized that he had become another prisoner of Daphne’s hair.   
  
“Our Most High Inquisitor is collecting wizards,” Parvati said, while watching Astoria carefully. “She recruits them for the Dark Lord.”  
“And what does that make you?” he asked.  
“Hers,” the three witches said together.   
  
Theo looked back at Daphne and was relieved to see the hair that had wound around her neck still had ample give. And that was when he spotted Seamus just behind a tree. He’d barely seen him before his head popped back away from view, but he felt relief to know that the others had not deserted them.  
  
“What did the four of you do?” asked Parvati.  
“What?” asked Theo distractedly. “Do?”  
“It was to our advantage that Draco perished,” said Padma. “We hoped that would weaken whatever walls the four of you had erected, but they are still just as strong as they were before he died.”   
Theo was too startled by her first words, however, and stopped paying attention to anything past those. _Draco was dead?”_  
“What do you mean Draco has perished?” he asked harshly, fear and denial gripping his words.  
  
Padma laughed. “I was pretty upset at first. But the Dark Lord stated that only the elder survived the fall of the Manor. And Lucius died shortly after, I am sure at the hands of our Lord, himself. I wanted Draco for his manor so I could offer it up to the Dark Lord in order to get my mother’s release. When Parvati understood my actual intentions, she came back around to us, didn’t you sister? So, Theo, you can stop holding your breath that she’ll undo your bindings again.”   
  
The Malfoys were dead. He had never been a fan of Lucius, but the man had protected him from his father on numerous occasions. Theo understood it was to have a weapon against his father if the time came; the Nott heir devoted to the Malfoys. But the protection had always been welcomed. And Draco. His friend. He’d had little patience with him for most of their Hogwarts years, but they were reestablishing their old ties. Theo felt hollow. He would not lose Daphne, too. And he had to believe that Pansy would be all right.   
  
“He’s more worried about his boyfriend,” Astoria said snidely, “than the realization that he is all alone with us in the dark.”   
Astoria pulled her wand from its holster and waved it furiously before Theo. Instantly he felt the stinging hex hit his chest, but he was unable to do anything to ease the pain; Daphne’s locks had wound around his torso now, too.  
“Oh, well, we do have this lovely fire,” said Padma. “Perhaps, its brightness has alleviated some of his fear.”  
  
Unexpectedly, the three witches were in a row again, and as one, they bent forward slightly and blew a breath of air out of their lips towards the fire. And in a puff, the fire was out and smoke billowed around Theo and Daphne. Both were choking from the dense smoke, but with every cough released, the bindings around them grew tighter.  
  
“Come out, come out!” Parvati yelled into the darkness. “I know you lot well enough to know you’d never run away. Even if that were the smart thing to do!”  
“Parvati, let them go!” Neville’s voice sounded.   
  
“I hear you have your mommy back,” Astoria called out. “Parvati was aching for hers, too. Bellatrix… Our Most High Inquisitor, was able to reunite her with her mother. Draco joined the Death Eaters to save his and it appears you found a way to forgive him… maybe, someday, if you’re alive, you can forgive her too. Not that any of us need anything from the likes of you!”  
  
A scream pierced the night and Theo turned to Daphne, groaning in pain at the pressure around his chest as he did so. He could make out her form against the darkness behind her, but he couldn’t see her face.  
  
“Hannah!” Seamus hollered, his voice unmistakable, but terror lacing the sound. “What have you done to her?” Seamus said, choking from the smoke as he asked, and the only remaining sound was a high-pitched laugh.   
  
Theo was terrified. The enchanted hair was impossibly tight around him and he didn’t know what to do. His wand was lost to him, and he felt shame for not even knowing when or how. He bit back a whimper and tried to calm down. And then, like an arrow had been shot, he heard a sound nearby. It happened again, right by his ear and he felt the air shift.   
  
“What were you doing in the dirt?” Daphne asked, her voice tired and strained.   
Theo realized he wanted to know the answer to that as well. So many creatures lived in this forest – had they woken something up?  
  
“Hogwarts doesn’t teach all magic, little girl,” said a new voice. It was deep and strong; that of a man. “They say it is out of respect for what isn’t yours, but we know the truth,” he continued. “It is out of warranted fear.”  
  
Another arrow sounded and a woman screamed.   
“Hannah?” Neville yelled.  
“I’ve got her, it wasn’t her,” Seamus yelled back.  
  
“Astoria?” murmured Daphne.   
Laughter sounded again. “You think a Centaur scares us?” Padma called out. “We know what lies here and we aren’t afraid to call upon its power!”  
  
“Padma –” started Astoria, crying. “I’ve been shot.”

“No!” Daphne cried out roughly. “Astoria, are you alright?”   
  
Theo was struggling to breathe; the bindings were too tight. He could hear Daphne wheezing for air behind him and he fought to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t tell if he was succeeding; the world was impossibly dark around him. Everything was shaking now. And he felt as though the forest were beating aloud in anger for what was happening here.  
  
And just when he was sure his eyes were, in fact, closed, a bright light erupted over all of them. Theo’s eyes focused on Daphne. Her face was turning blue and there was nothing he could do. He frantically tried to pull free from his bindings, but it was futile. He was sure his ribs were breaking.  
  
“Bane!” came a loud shout in the night. Remus Hagrid, his bur a welcome sound. His voice was deafening, keeping time with the shaking ground. “Bane, they’re tied up! Lemme help ‘em!”  
  
The groundskeeper was between Theo and Daphne, obscuring Theo’s view. Before Theo could protest, however, Hagrid turned to him and Theo could see that he’d stuck his giant hand between Daphne’s neck and the hair around it. He’d pulled back enough for her to breathe and Daphne was gasping in large, halting breaths.  
  
The Patil sisters were shouting over each other and Astoria was weeping loudly. Theo was only distantly aware of Padma cursing Astoria and screeching at the Centaur, when Hagrid turned to him.   
  
“Do ya know how long it was before the spell?” the half-giant asked.   
“What?” Theo asked, confused.  
“Her hair! How long was it?”  
“She was bald –” Theo coughed out, “they’d taken her hair days ago!”  
  
Hagrid nodded, satisfied with Theo’s answer, and pulled out a pink umbrella. Theo, sure that he had become delirious, finally allowed his eyes to close.  
  


* * *

Professor McGonagall found no relief to be back at Hogwarts. The warm candle light of the school had been replaced by green orbs. The crackling fireplaces were kept low. And the laughter had been exchanged for deathly quiet.   
  
The witless Carrows believed they ruled the roost due to Severus’s indifference. They delighted in swaggering through the corridors and frightening the students. But Minerva and Severus knew the real danger came from Bellatrix and her appropriated Inquisitorial Squad. And while Dumbledore’s portrait was confident that Bellatrix was madly obsessed with Lord Voldemort, Severus believed it was far more than pining infatuation.   
  
Tonight, Minerva found herself traveling through a secret corridor she had never thought she would resort to. As Deputy Headmistress to the school she had been privy to a small number of the numerous secrets the castle kept, and one such secret was a hidden tunnel from her office to that of the Headmaster’s. For obvious reasons, she never used the tunnel to reach Albus. No, that would have been far too inappropriate and the potential scandal if her use had been discovered and misinterpreted was highly disturbing to ponder on. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.   
  
To all observers, she still despised Severus. No one was to know of their regular meetings so, she made her way trough the tunnel to update her associate on the circumstances of Alice Longbottom. She eagerly looked forward to telling him about Neville’s achievements, as well. She thoroughly enjoyed showing the malcontent potions master how wrong he was about her Gryffindors any chance she got.   
  
Two small gargoyles waited at the end of the corridor. They were bizarre looking fixtures, resembling a combination of cherub and alligator, and after providing the required password they would only allow her access if, as they say, the coast was clear. It came as quite a surprise, then, when she entered the office of the Headmaster and found him caught in a staring contest with the presumed kidnapped Luna Lovegood.   
  
“Oh, Professor McGonagall,” Luna said brightly. “It’s so lovely to see you, although,” she continued, “I do find it out of character that you are going along with their plans. It’s the only thing that gives me hope that there is a reason you aren’t telling him that he is going to die.”  
  
“Die?” she replied. “Who is, Miss Lovegood? Who is going to die?”  
“Harry,” Luna said stiffly. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did something to him when his curse failed. I don’t understand what, but I know that either this …poison… takes control of Harry, or Harry –” Luna stopped suddenly, unable to finish her sentence.   
“Or Mr. Potter has to die?” Minerva asked. “Oh, child, we must have faith.” But she hesitated when she saw the look of fury on Severus’s face as he stared at the portrait on the wall.   
  
“Is this true?” he snarled at Dumbledore.   
The image of the late headmaster appeared to sigh. “I fear that it is,” the portrait answered. “Harry must face him in the end. And only when all of the other horcruxes have been destroyed.”

“Other horcruxes?” whispered Luna. “OH!” she cried out.   
  
“Am I to understand, then,” hissed Severus, “that I am to stop protecting him in the last moments? That I am to allow her son to meet his death and do nothing? We just offer him up as a pig for slaughter?”  
Minerva tried to keep her face still, but the image of Harry offered as such caused her to flinch.   
“What have we done?” she murmured. “I must warn them!”  
  
“No, Professor. You would expose them now,” said Luna. “And he will do it. Harry will do it. If you don’t explain it to him, he may try to fight back,” she continued. But her eyes were vacant, no light in her bright eyes. She was somewhere else. “You have to tell him to sacrifice himself,” she said. “And he will die.”  
  
Minerva turned to yell at the image of Dumbledore. And when she saw his tears, her anger intensified. “How dare you weep, Albus. How dare you weep for the outcome of your schemes!”  
  
“It’s very fascinating,” Luna interrupted, “how the magic works on this portrait.”  
The blue eyes of the former Headmaster stared at her, tears still seeming to fall.   
  
“He didn’t create his own horcrux, did he?” said Snape viciously. “All for the Greater Good?”  
“He just followed the wrong path, Professor,” Luna said. “He wasn’t meant to be Harry’s guide.”  
“What?” asked Minerva. “What are you saying?”  
  
Luna just shook her head sadly. “Professor Snape would have been his mentor, had he been sorted into Slytherin. Even the hat had longed to sort him there.”  
  
“The hat did consider Slytherin,” said the portrait, his voice sad. “I have always believed that we sort too soon. And I was determined to keep Harry from falling under the wrong influences in Slytherin. So, I persuaded the Sorting Hat to take its time and find another match if Slytherin were its first choice. But I would have guided Harry regardless, Ms. Lovegood.”  
“You would have tried on your own. You would only have succeeded through Professor Snape if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin. But he needed Professor Snape. Instead, you created further conflict between them. Had Harry been in his house, the Professor would have seen him for who he is and not as the copy of his father. And the divided houses of Hogwarts would have been united against Tom Riddle.”  
  
Minerva stared at the portrait. Her fury changed, then. Instead of anger and impatience, she felt an all-consuming sorrow. “How do you know this, Miss Lovegood? Can you really see all of that in the magic of a portrait?”  
“He is actually in the portrait,” said Luna. “Not a ghost, but more than a memory. Not a horcrux,” she added quickly, looking pointedly at Professor Snape, “but a part of his spirit is there.”  
  
Minerva was startled as Luna quickly lunged forward, her eyes seeming to bore holes into the painting. And then, with an unnatural yell, Luna slapped her palms on the canvas, her hands upon Dumbledore’s shoulders, and she shook them. And the man within the painting jerked quickly with her movements, his glasses sliding down his nose and his robes askew.   
“How are you still in this plane?” she asked quickly as she stepped away, her hands slightly discolored from the paint.   
  
But before Dumbledore could answer, Luna’s eyes changed again. The blue faded and only the whites remained. She reached forward with one hand, and grasped the air in front of his forehead. In a startled yelp, Dumbledore’s image reached up as if to grab her hand, but his fists couldn’t leave the frame.   
  
And slowly, as if a feather falling from a bird in flight, he lowered his hands and focused on Luna.   
“Oh,” he said evenly, disconcerted.   
  
Luna stepped away, her eyes focused back on Professor McGonagall. She was herself again, the wide-eyed, charming girl.   
“What is going on?” Minerva asked.   
“I showed him the lines he should have followed.”   
  
“What good would that do him, now?” drawled Professor Snape.   
“As he refused to leave this plane properly, and as he is still meddling, it seemed prudent to remind him that there are others just as capable, if not more so, than him,” Luna said snippily, her tone startling both Professors.   
  
Minerva jumped as Professor Snape laughed loudly at Miss Lovegood’s words. A chortling sound of such mirth, she had never imagined he was capable.   
Luna looked carefully at Minerva. “He is not a bad man, don’t worry Professor McGonagall. He truly did intend well. I’m afraid my frustration has more to do with my disappointment on what I have lost because of him.”  
  
“I didn’t trust my motives,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I didn’t believe I could refrain from exploiting her.”  
“And when I arrived?” Luna asked softly.  
“I was distracted by Harry. I let my obsession with defeating another dark wizard, with saving the Wizarding Community, get in the way.”  
  
“An obsession you pawned off on Potter,” mumbled Minerva.   
Professor Snape snorted behind her, in a somehow dignified way, before sitting down in his chair.   
  
“Are we talking about Pandora?” Snape asked.  
“Had I not been fearful of my temptations, I would have helped Pandora learn to control her magic. She would not have died. Her death, you see, was not merely a spell gone wrong. No, her death was due to her attempting to examine Luna’s talents. Pandora reached too far into the other plane, and severed her spirit from her body in a most horrifying way. Had I done my duty both as her teacher and because of the resources I possessed, I could have helped anchor her to this realm. And I would have had the foresight to allow – to realize Harry’s potential in Slytherin under your guidance, Severus.”  
  
“I would have had him expelled his first week,” Snape said.   
  
“As you said, Professor, what good will that do us now?” Luna asked, her tone quiet but kind. “What must be done now, though, must be done immediately. I have lost track of time! There are several students in much danger tonight. On the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest and in the lowest level of the dungeons. Professor Snape you must see to the students in the dungeons. Professor McGonagall, you must send word to Hagrid to see to those in the Forest.”  
Minerva nodded her head. “I can meet him there and assist as necessary. Professor Flitwick is on rounds tonight, I can get his help.”  
“I am sorry, Professor McGonagall, it would be unwise for you to act any further.”  
  
Minerva tensed, ready to argue, but then looked to the morose painting on the wall. He smiled sadly at her, his expression one of understanding.   
“I will get word to Hagrid immediately,” she replied and moved to the corner of the room to cast her patronus.   
  
Severus was already headed to the door. “The lowest level is a very dangerous area of the castle. I will have to get some help,” he said hastily.  
Luna nodded but then called to him. “Please, Professor Snape” she said, “don’t succumb when you find an inevitable way out.” Walking towards him, she stopped before him. “I know you are aware of the consequences of that mark, but you are not aware of what I am capable of. Prove to me you want to live, and I will show you.”  
  
“Miss Lovegood, you must know what I have lost,” he murmured.  
She smiled at him. “You will never know what you can find if you don’t look,” she said.  
His eyes narrowed. “I am exhausted with children lecturing me,” he said hotly. Then, nodding to the occupants of the room, he made his exit to the dungeons and whatever he would meet there.   
  
“Where have you been?” Minerva asked Luna, breaking the silence that had penetrated the room. “And how did you get here?”  
“Those are very philosophical questions, Professor, but, we don’t have much time. Tomorrow, war will come.”

* * *

When Theo awoke, he knew that he was on a bed. He could smell the potions in the air and cringed to realize that he was likely in the hospital wing of the castle. Not that St. Mungo’s would have been any better.   
  
He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to reveal his consciousness if the Patil sisters or the Carrows were nearby. But it was only Ginny’s voice he heard.   
  
“It was horrifying,” she said. “They way they’d hung her up like that. Her skirt was falling over her chest and you could see her knickers. And they kept dunking her down into that old well. She was so cold her skin was blue.”  
“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Neville asked.   
“She was held under the water for so long and so many times,” Cho Chang answered. Theo remembered she had gone with Ginny’s team to rescue Pansy.   
  
“Theo, it’s just us,” Daphne said quietly. “You can open your eyes.”  
He obeyed her without question. She was smiling sadly at him, her head once again bald.   
“Pansy?” he choked out.   
“In a potion induced sleep,” said Ginny.   
“What did they do to her?” he asked.  
  
It was Cho who answered. “They had her strung up by her ankles over the old castle well in the dungeon. I don’t know if anyone even knew it was there.”  
“Who had her?” he asked, imagining the horrible things Vincent and Gregg may have done to her.   
“Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. Then McLaggen showed up. It was crazy, but Blaise got really upset that Cormac came back. He said that the High Inquisitor was very specific about the number of wizards who were supposed to be there.”  
  
“I don’t think that well had been uncovered before tonight,” said Daphne.   
“I think you’re right,” Ginny said. “And when Snape arrived, he seemed surprised that the well was being used.”  
“Thank Merlin he arrived, though,” said Colin as he approached them. The small young man nodded at Theo before putting a hand on Cho’s shoulder. Theo bit back a sneer as Cho shrugged it off and smiled at Colin as if that would lessen the hurt.   
“You’re right, Colin,” said Ginny. “Or more than Crabbe might have died.”  
  
“Vince is dead?” Theo asked, shocked.   
Daphne nodded and took his hand, seeming to understand the unexpected sadness he was feeling. “He fell into the well head first,” Daphne said gently. “There wasn’t any water in his lungs, so he was dead as soon as he hit bottom. Blaise was screaming at Cormac that it was his fault, but I don’t see how. From what everyone is saying, McLaggen wasn’t anywhere near Vince when he fell.”  
“Greg must be devastated.” said Theo. “He and Vince were so close. And with Draco dead, too.”  
“Draco’s not dead,” said Neville.  
Theo turned quickly to the other man. “What! Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“I’m telling you now. The first chance I got. I’m sorry, Theo. Draco is alive and he’s with Harry, Ron and Hermione.”  
Theo knew he was smiling. Draco was alive. And if he was alive, perhaps his parents were as well. He smiled brightly at Daphne and she squeezed his hand.   
  
“Why did it have to be three wizards?” Neville asked. “Do you think that’s why the Patil Twins brought Astoria in? Did they need to be three, too?”  
Thinking of the three witches brought the evenings events back to the forefront of Theo’s mind.   
“How did we get out of there?” he asked to no one in particular.  
“Hagrid,” said Daphne. “He saved us with a pink umbrella.”  
“I didn’t imagine that?”  
“Please don’t tell anyone,” said Ginny quickly. “I don’t think he’s supposed to have it. But he only ever uses it in emergencies. And it was really You-Know-Who’s fault he was kicked out of Hogwarts in the first place.”  
“His secret is safe with us, I promise,” Daphne said. “I just can’t believe he knew what they’d done.”  
  
“What did they do?” asked Theo.  
“Just a parlor trick, is what he said. Old folk magic from the dark ages, only performed in pubs and dark alleys for tips and such, anymore.”  
“I was sure it was some new, dark magic Bellatrix had taught them,” Theo sighed. “But explain to me how an umbrella could counteract such a trick? And why it’s a problem he has one.”  
Ginny seemed to be laughing at him as she shook her head. “He’s hidden his old wand in there. Or, at least what was left of it after they broke it.”  
  
“What about Hannah? And Seamus?” Theo asked when the light feeling from Ginny’s answer evaporated.   
Ginny sucked in air.   
“Sadly,” said Neville, “not a parlor trick. At least not one Hagrid or Madam Pomfrey knows of.”  
“What?” Theo asked, afraid.   
“Professor – Headmaster, I mean, Snape is pretty sure he can help her,” Neville continued. “But he seemed so disturbed. It’s strange to see him disturbed.”  
“They took her hands,” Ginny said hurriedly. “The skin is perfectly healed, as if she never had hands at all.”  
“Seamus is out of his mind with guilt,” said Colin. “I guess he told her they would fix it real quick once they got here. But the way her skin is, they can’t even use Skelegrow. Her body just rejects it as if there aren’t any bones to grow.”  
“She was going to open a restaurant and cook,” said Neville. “She’s been talking about that since first year. She didn’t even know why she had to come here, as she’d never get any better at cooking here learning to transfigure a cup into a rat.”  
  
“What did Snape say it was?” he asked, horrified for the friendly girl he barely knew.  
“He didn’t,” Daphne said.  
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to hear that he showed up,” said Neville.   
“I wasn’t sure what to think,” said Cho.  
“He came in looking like a bat. The Carrows were at his side,” said Ginny, “and Snape just asked what tricks Bellatrix had got them up to.”  
“Yeah,” said Colin. “He talked in this bored voice about how he wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with more bodies, and if they would kindly get back to their dorms as he had potions to tend to.”  
“He didn’t even blink when Vince fell,” said Cho. “If I hadn’t heard about his reaction to Tracy Davis, I would have thought he didn’t care.”  
“I’m still not convinced he does care,” said Colin. “He’s cold, that one.”  
  
“So, where are they?” asked Theo. “The Patil sisters and Astoria?”  
“You and Daphne both passed out at the same time. But you, Theo, were struggling so much, you cracked your ribs and Madam Pomfrey had to fix you up,” said Neville. “Bane scared the three witches off. I don’t really know what he did to Astoria, except for possibly hitting her with an arrow. But as soon as she’d been hit the forest seemed to change. Bane yelled out that the vapors were disappearing and that the children would be able to see properly again right when Hagrid removed Daphne’s hair again.”  
  
Theo smiled at Daphne. She really was still such a pretty girl, no matter if she had hair or not. He would have to tell her this time.  
“What does that mean?” he asked. “The vapors?”  
Neville shrugged his shoulders, sheepishly.  
“Do you think there was something in that bonfire?” Daphne asked. “Maybe some sort of hallucinogen?”  
“More tricks, then?” asked Ginny.   
“To make us all see the same thing?” sneered Theo. “I want to know how Padma made herself look like Myrtle.”  
“She and her sister have been floating on air since the start of term and no one has figured that out,” Ginny said. “Is that a trick, or are they doing it?”  
“The Dark Lord does it sometimes,” said Theo. “Snape appears to, but it isn’t easy to tell if it’s him floating or if it’s a trick with his robes. Which, in all fairness, could be true of the Dark Lord and the Patils, too.”  
“And Astoria,” Daphne said softly. “She floats, too.”  
  
“What about Zabini, Goyle and McLaggen?” asked Theo. “Do they float? And, where are they?”  
“Dunno,” said Colin.   
  
“I see no one is concerned for me!” wailed Moaning Myrtle as she poked her head up through the floor. She rested her chin on her hand and glowered at the group by Theo’s bed. “Just because I’m a ghost, is that it? As if nothing bad could happen to me?”  
  
“Oh no, Myrtle,” said Ginny, exasperated. “That isn’t it at all! We’re just sure you could outsmart those witches. Really? What could they do to you?”  
Myrtle narrowed her eyes at Ginny, clearly suspicious the red-head was mocking her.   
  
“Are you alright, then?” asked Neville. “We’re sorry we didn’t ask sooner.”  
Myrtle smiled. A girly expression that actually softened her unpleasant features, however, her smile fell when Ginny smiled at Neville.  
  
“Thank you for your help tonight,” Theo said, distracting the ghost from her distress. “You were a comfort.”  
“Yes, well, I was only there in case anyone died. I wanted to watch. But I followed those witches when they fled. The younger one was actually hit with an arrow in her leg. She’ll live. But I am sure it hurt.”  
  
Daphne squeezed Theo’s hand at the news. “Did you see where they went, Myrtle?” she asked.   
Myrtle shook her head. “They left the grounds. Due to the restrictions imposed upon me for pursuing my death earned rights, I was not able to follow them.”  
  
“What is she talking about?” Colin asked Ginny.  
“She got in trouble for haunting and can only haunt here now.”  
  
“I knew I liked you,” Theo said to Myrtle and she brightened once again.  
“The Bloody Baron was in the dungeons tonight,” she said, continuing her story. “When he realized they’d unearthed the well, he went to its depths to protect Pansy.”  
  
“He calls that protection?” Cho asked cynically. “She was tortured!”  
“But only by the living,” Myrtle answered. “There is death in that hole. And its haunting cannot be controlled.”  
“What’s down there?” asked Neville.  
  
But it wasn’t Myrtle who answered his question. Instead, another ghost had joined them in the secluded wing. “Slytherin’s first monster,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “A failed experiment that had to be put down.”  
“Monsters can become ghosts?” Colin asked. “I thought only witches and wizards could be ghosts.”  
  
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “That is true.”  
“So, is it a ghost or a monster?” asked Ginny.  
  
Nearly Headless Nick ignored her question, however, and replied with one of his own. “Your school mate chose to remain. The Bloody Barron is attempting to guide him from the well and back into the castle. Is there anything that might entice him back?”  
“Nothing that wouldn’t be unpleasant for the living,” said Daphne. “Why not let him rot with the monster? He murdered Tracy. He tortured Pans and how many others?”  
  
“Ghosts do not judge each other,” said Nicholas. “We all have crimes that tie us here. The weight of them changes after death.”  
“Not to the living,” Daphne hissed. Quickly, she rose from her seat beside Theo and made her way to the bed across from him. Ginny joined her and Theo saw the dark hair fanning the pillow. _Pansy._  
  
“He loved to sing,” Theo said. “The music room would do him good; he was never misbehaved there. He loved the music too much.”   
Nearly Headless Nick nodded his thanks and left them, motioning for Myrtle to join him.   
  
Theo stared at Pansy and Daphne and realized he didn’t know what he felt anymore. He was relieved that both women were safe now. Scared for what side effects may torment them after tonight. But as for Pansy. He had no desire to kiss her head or cradle her. He simply wanted to hold her hand and be there for her. He exhaled, realizing that she was once again, simply his friend.   
  
“They hexed her teeth from her mouth,” Cho said. “She was coherent when Snape pulled her down, and she told him that when she wouldn’t obey their demands, they threatened to force her to do what they wanted. Madam Pomfrey was able to grow them back, but it was clear she was assaulted. I am not sad he’s dead. I wish the others were dead, too.”  
  
Theo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts of what they forced her to do. “Where are they?”  
Cho snorted. “Probably starting a riot in their Inquisitorial Suite. Saluting each other and vowing revenge on us for his death.”  
“Murder,” said Neville. “They’ll call it murder.”  
  
“Why are we still here, then? Why aren’t we in the Room of Requirement?” Theo asked urgently.  
Ginny turned to them. “We have to wait for her to heal. And we aren’t leaving her here alone. Professor McGonagall has shown us a new passageway.” She smiled sadly. “Harry would have loved to see it.”  
“He’s not dead,” Colin snapped.   
  
Ginny nodded. “You’re right.”  
“Passageway?” Theo asked.   
“The Carrows are searching the forest. Hagrid is leading them away from us as best he can. The students believes we are in lock down because of Lavender's murder, so only a few are likely to be prowling about. When she wakes up,” Ginny looked at the clock, “in less than an hour, we take the passageway to Hogsmeade.”  
“From there, we can take another tunnel back to the Room of Requirement,” said Neville. “Through the portrait.”  
  
“But the alarms?” Theo hissed.   
“Professor McGonagall said there will be a distraction. It will be our signal,” answered Cho.   
“And then we rest and prepare,” said Neville. “Because tomorrow they’ll be coming for us.”  
  
  



	28. London Fog

Hermione had done many things in her life that she should be ashamed of. Obliviating her parents, obviously; not only once, but twice! Setting Snape on fire, no matter how small it may have been. Mishandling Time Turners. Keeping Rita Skeeter in a jar. Hexing Marietta who, at the end of last school year, still had the unsightly blemish. Entrapping Umbridge to the Centaurs. And, if she were being honest with herself, there were certainly more items to consider. Hermione could not decide, however, if kissing Draco Malfoy should make it to the list of things she should be ashamed of. She knew, though, that whether those delightful kisses should become another mark against her or not, she would find no shame in kissing him just as she found no shame in that rather long record of _possible_ misdeeds.  
  
She watched him as he walked ahead of her on their way back to the cottage. His hair was getting longer, but his shoulders were relaxed. He still had his swagger and when he turned back to make sure she was coming, she couldn’t help but smile at him. He was beautiful without his sneer. Oh, he still sneered at her friends. He was still sarcastic and rude, outwitting many with his keen observations and wit. And he was, unbelievably, winning them all over simply by acknowledging his poor decisions. There were many things he should be ashamed of, too. His part in letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts was his worst misdeed and he owned it. He knew that there was no question in feeling shame for that. But he held onto some of his misdeeds as not worthy of his regret. Such as the Potter Stinks fiasco. And that really had been a smart showing of charm work, Hermione readily admitted.  
  
The action he was most ashamed of and that he truly had renounced, though, was his belief that any living thing other than a pureblood was lesser. At least, he had abandoned the idea when it came to her. And Hermione found that she trusted Draco when he told her that he was trying. She trusted him that his thoughts were instinct. _Brainwashed_. He had been brainwashed, and now he was trying to decide for himself what to believe. And that, Hermione felt, was incredibly attractive. Draco Malfoy had the desire to learn and the humility to relearn.  
  
Harry also had a list of acts that were greyer than they should be. As did the Weasleys. And Dumbledore. So, this war waging around them was certainly more clouded than some would like to think. And Hermione embraced the fact that she would do anything for it to end, so her actions for justice could be a little less grey going forward. Admittedly, though, the world would never be just black and white. And neither would her attraction to Draco Malfoy.   
  
He accepted her hand easily as they walked towards Harry who was waiting for them on the porch. Hermione couldn’t shake the excitement fluttering in her stomach as Draco’s warm hand held hers. The anger she used to feel at the sight of Draco was replaced with a pleasant feeling. Her understanding of this young man had been changing for a long time now and the flickering thought of what it would be like to be his friend had exploded into something so much more. Draco Malfoy was becoming one of her favorite people. He didn’t snarl at her or hex her or push her away. He’d plotted with her and laughed with her and snogged her.   
  
And Harry had likely caught them! She tried to calm down the self-consciousness reddening her cheeks, but Harry just chuckled as he waited for them, his usual disdain around Draco missing. And there was no anger when Draco snuck in another quick kiss before they stepped up onto the porch. Draco’s grey eyes flashed, and he was smiling at her. He looked so much better than he had at his home just a few weeks ago. He already seemed to be gaining weight. And the dark circles under his eyes, though still there, weren’t anywhere near as dark. He winked at her and she knew he was aware of her embarrassment at Harry knowing what they’d been up to, but Draco wasn’t going to let her wallow in it.   
  
“What’s going on?” Hermione asked Harry, attempting to focus on the rest of the world again.  
Harry answered, his expression having become serious. “Oh, just a little bank robbery. Come on inside, then. We’ve been waiting on you.” Harry motioned them towards the sitting room.  
  
Draco looked uneasily at her. She wasn’t sure she blamed him. Robbing Gringotts bank sounded like a recipe for disaster. She was determined to hear Harry out, though, because she couldn’t think of any other way to retrieve that horcrux.  
  
She squeezed Draco’s hand as they joined the group waiting in the sitting room and she delighted in the feel of his squeezing her hand in return. Hermione was surprised to see Dean Thomas and Mr. Ollivander were seated together, looking both uncomfortable and unsure. Ron and Fleur were also there. Three more wooden chairs were open, completing the circle the group would be sitting in. But Bill was nowhere to be seen.   
  
Draco seemed to have the same observation. “Where’s Bill?” he asked, his quiet voice seeming too loud in the room.   
“He won’t be joining us,” Harry answered. “I haven’t invited him.”  
Draco looked at Harry as if he’d gone mad and Hermione was sure her expression mirrored his.   
  
Harry sighed and pulled his unruly hair back away from his eyes before he sat in the chair next to Fleur. Without letting go of Draco’s hand, Hermione moved to one of the remaining seats. As soon as they were seated, Harry leaned forward and addressed the group.  
  
“We will not be going into a lot of detail right now,” he said. “I don’t want to put anyone in any more danger than I have to,” he said, looking pointedly at Mr. Ollivander and Dean Thomas. “But we need help with Hermione’s wand.”  
  
“What wand?” Dean asked. “I thought hers was taken at Malfoy Manor.”  
“It was,” said Harry. “She has Bellatrix’s now.”  
“I can make her a new one, too,” said Mr. Ollivander, looking at Hermione reassuringly, “but it will take time. What little energy I had has been spent in making replacements for Dean and Ms. Lovegood. I still can’t fathom how the girl convinced me to do it,” he said, his voice almost a laugh.  
Harry shook his head. “We only have a day at most, sir. And we need her to have Bellatrix’s wand.”  
  
“’Ermione must use a wand that would be a plausible spare for Bellatrix’s,” Fleur cut in. “The wand must choose ‘Ermione, but still bear the essence of its initial owner.”  
  
Dean looked at Fleur in confusion, but Mr. Ollivander’s eyes widened. The old man looked quickly around the group and closed his eyes tightly before shaking his head. “Madness,” he said. “You’re all mad.”  
Hermione was confused on the purpose of this request. “I have improved with her wand, Fleur. Why is this necessary?”  
“They know ‘er wand was lost. They will expect ‘er to have a new one.”  
Dean jerked his head, looking quickly between Fleur and Hermione. “You’re going to pretend to be her?” exclaimed Dean.   
  
“Details!” Harry interjected. “Please, don’t try to figure this out. I can’t handle the thought of anyone else in danger because of me.”  
“Mr. Potter,” Ollivander began, “we are in danger regardless of what we do or do not know. But I will respect your wishes.” Turning to Hermione, Ollivander held out his hand. “The wand in question, please.”  
Hermione pulled the revolting wand from her holster and gladly freed herself of it. Mr. Ollivander did not miss her disgust and frowned.  
“Oh no, that will not do,” he said to her. Shaking his head, he held the dark wand up and examined it carefully. “Yes, I remember this wand. 12 ¾ long. Walnut with dragon heartstring core. Most unyielding.” Lowering the wand, he peered at Hermione. “And I recall yours, as well. 10 ¾, also with a dragon heartstring core. From the offspring of this dragon,” he said, lifting the offensive wand again. “Which means that your magic should be able to work with its core. And your wand was made of vine wood. The previous owner cast many spells resembling vines with this wand; perhaps that will be a help to us.”  
  
“That wand in your hand was used against Hermione. Unforgivable curses were hurled at her,” Draco said vehemently. “And you’re saying this _unyielding_ wand will somehow choose her?”  
  
Mr. Ollivander looked at Draco, but did not answer him. Instead, he held the wand back to Hermione. “A simple spell, please, so I can see its reaction to you.”  
Hermione exhaled slowly and eyed the room. Spotting a daisy in the vase on the table, she rose from her seat and retrieved the flower, placing in on the floor in the center of the group. Waving the wand in her hand with familiar choreography, she pointed to the flower. “_Wingardium Leviosa_!” she said confidently. But when the magic filtered through the wand, she felt wrong. And the daisy only lifted a few inches before falling back down.   
  
Hermione sat dejectedly and felt the comforting weight of Draco’s arm rest reassuringly across her shoulders. He’d called her Hermione, she remembered, the thought bringing her some joy in this demoralizing moment. There had been no hesitation in its use, only concern for her well-being.   
  
“No, that will not do at all,” Mr. Ollivander said, breaking into her thoughts and returning her to the frustrations before her. “How did you obtain this wand?” he asked her.  
“Harry gave it to me.”  
Mr. Ollivander turned to Harry, but Harry just shook his head. “Ron disarmed Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor,” he said.  
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but both Dean and Mr. Ollivander grinned. “Good man, good man,” Ollivander said. “That may be all we need. Mr. Weasley, if you would be so kind as to attempt the same spell.”

Ron started to lift Wormtail’s wand. Patiently, Mr. Ollivander corrected him. “The wand we’ve been discussing, please,” he said. Ron laughed nervously and accepted the wand from Hermione.   
  
She looked at Draco and felt pride at his obvious attempt to bite back his sneer. He really was trying.   
  
“_Wingardium Leviosa_!” Ron said. The daisy rose for him, several inches higher than it had for Hermione, before falling back to the ground.   
Mr. Ollivander looked quizzically at Ron who just shrugged his shoulders. “I was never very good at that spell,” he said.  
  
With an unreadable expression, Mr. Ollivander nodded. The older man turned to Fleur. “Will your husband be able to assist me in obtaining necessary materials again?”  
“The Order members ‘ave already assured ‘im they will locate whatever is required.”  
  
“Then Mr. Thomas and I will leave you to your business. When the supplies are ready, Mr. Thomas will reface the wand under my tutelage. He did very fine work on helping make his wand,” he added with a smile at Dean. “He is a most talented artist. Until then,” he said, “Ms. Granger must disarm Mr. Weasley in a legitimate duel. Only then, will there be a chance of this unyielding wand choosing Ms. Granger.”  
  
Hermione felt her heart sink. How could she make such an instrument for evil choose her? As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Ollivander stopped before her on his way from the room. “Take heart, Ms. Granger. A wand wants to channel magic. Show the wand what you are capable of. It will only consider an honest display of magic. Bring it to me when you have claimed it from Mr. Weasley.”  
  
When the two men had departed the room, Draco leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching out before him. “Am I to understand that we are going to attempt to rob an impenetrable bank and not have the aid of a wizard who has worked there since graduating Hogwarts?” he asked, his tone clipped.   
Hermione struggled not to laugh. Draco sounded so much like Snape in that question, she could almost imagine the older man was here in the room.  
  
Harry frowned at Draco and Hermione was sure Draco had used the tone on purpose to rile her friend. Draco’s face was calm as Harry scrutinized him. With resignation, she understood that there would always be a silent war between them, no matter how their feelings about each other should change.  
  
“Bill expertly avoided all my questions about Gringotts,” Harry said. “But he did tell me about his job. I don’t know if you knew, but he was originally working in their Egypt location as a Curse Breaker, finding magic stuff in the tombs there. He transferred to England to help the Order and has to work a desk job now. And he told this to the goblins. He can’t keep information from them because he’s a human employee there and they already assume he can’t be trusted. The goblins don’t care about this war so they don’t care if he’s in the Order, but they do care about treasure and their secrets. So, when he took this job, he had to accept the goblin code. It forbids him from talking about the bank’s secrets. He called it base treachery to break that code.”  
  
Draco had sat straighter when Harry brought up the code and was now shaking his head. “I didn’t think that they might make their human employees take the code, but of course they would,” Draco said.  
Harry nodded. “Yeah, when Bill told me that I thought we were already lost. But then he said that for as much as the goblins hate wand bearers, they hate witches the most. That they don’t even make witches take the code because the goblins refuse to tell them any of the secrets of the bank. The goblins assume they aren’t smart enough to understand how the bank works. Rarely are they allowed any position other than secretarial work, but the witches sure are fun to laugh at as they struggle to get their work done.”  
  
Hermione felt irritation at the goblins. Gringotts was so involved in the wizarding business world, how could the goblins not see how capable women could be. Who wouldn’t struggle at her job if she wasn’t told how to do it!  
  
“And that was when I realized,” Harry continued, “that Fleur worked at the bank and hadn’t taken the code. And Fleur’s a very smart witch.”  
Draco smiled at Harry and looked to Fleur. “You have a way for us to get in?”  
Fleur grinned and nodded. “Oui.”  
  
“I have a favor to ask, then,” said Draco. “I understand if we can’t do it, however, I need to retrieve an item from the Malfoy vault. It is the only way I will be able to locate my parents.”  
  
Hermione felt irritation spark at his request and, ashamed, tried to stamp it down. She knew he wasn’t trying to hinder their mission. He was asking for help. What would she do if she were in his shoes? She saw that Ron and Harry were looking to each other and she turned to Fleur. It came as a surprise to see Fleur staring right at her as if waiting for Hermione to say something.   
  
“How close is it to the Lestrange vault?” Ron asked.  
“It is very close,” said Fleur. “And with the story I ‘ave invented, it could work to visit both vaults. I just do not know if my contact is willing to open two vaults.”  
“He has a key, I’m sure,” said Harry, shrugging his shoulder towards Draco. “Why would he need a goblin?”  
“It is one of the higher security vaults,” answered Draco. “As is the Lestrange vault. Both will require the palm of an authorized goblin to open.”  
  
“Maybe we should have kept Griphook around, after all,” muttered Ron.  
Fleur laughed easily. “’e would ‘ave betrayed you,” she said. “The goblins may hate ‘e-Who-Must-Not-Named, but they hate wand bearers more. The situation Ludo Bagman found ‘imself in has them refusing to side with the cheating ‘umans. And ‘e knows you ‘ave the sword. That sword is on the list of objects they consider to ‘ave been stolen from the goblins.”  
  
“They have a list?” said Ron.  
“Of course, they do,” Draco muttered.  
  
“If goblins won’t help wand bearers, how are we opening the vaults?” Hermione asked.  
Harry grinned. “It turns out, Xenophilius’s crazy stories weren’t always so far-fetched.”   
Ron groaned. “Please tell me we aren’t breaking in with Nargles.”   
  
Harry chuckled. “No, but there really is a group of goblins that will go against the others to keep Moldyshorts from holding the bank under his ministry thumb.”  
“Seriously?” Draco asked.  
  
Fleur nodded. “A goblin named Nottmutton is leading them. ‘e-Who-Must-Not-Named had ‘is family murdered in the first war. Bagman is a lesser concern to ‘im.”  
  
“Hermione?” Harry said.  
She looked to him and could see his apprehension. She raised her eyebrow, unaware that she had come far closer to achieving the look she had always strived for, or of the discomfort she caused Harry and Ron to see her expression so resemble Draco’s. And unaware of the laughter on Fleur’s face as she took in Harry and Ron’s reactions.  
“Harry?” Hermione mirrored.  
“Are you ready to duel Ron?”  
  
She knew without looking that Draco was grinning widely and so, without turning to him, she simply held her hand over to him. And when she felt the weight of Narcissa’s wand in her palm, she felt satisfaction that she wasn’t surprised he trusted her with it.   
“Please don’t hurt him,” Harry said. “We all need to be in fighting order.”  
“Have a little faith, Harry,” Ron said. “She won’t break my legs.” But Ron seemed to hesitate as he was rising from his seat. “Right, Hermione?”

* * *

  
Dean and Ollivander had done wonders on the wand. It was the same wand, she knew, but it looked remarkably different now. And it was hers. She no longer felt disgust when she saw it. It didn’t ooze invisible dark magic when she held it.   
  
Ollivander had told her that just as she needed to heal from the magic it performed on her, so did the wand. Her winning the wand from Ron had been the first step for both her and the wand. When she had dueled her friend, she had forced herself to remember her torture under Bellatrix. Instead of trying to ignore the memories, or overcome them, she embraced them. She focused on her strength. On her determination to keep her secrets from the dark witch. Her willingness to die than to succumb to Bellatrix. When she cast her _Expelliarmus_, she clung to the realization that she had been stronger than Bellatrix. And the duel had ended in seconds. The wand, however, still fought her.   
  
_“It is not an infant,” Ollivander had said. “It has performed for decades and has only known the darkest of magic. Your pursuits are as unfamiliar to it as its dark signature is to you. Trust that Mr. Thomas and I will do what we can to make it feel more comfortable to you.”  
Hermione had been shocked to realize that she was afraid for the wand. “You won’t hurt it?” she asked.  
Ollivander smiled brightly at her and she felt the wand pulsate softly as she handed it to him._  
  
They had not hurt the wand. Dean had interrupted her and the others many times to have her cast charms and spells. And he’d only smiled shyly when she’d asked him how he was picking up on this new skill so quickly. And when he interrupted for the final time, Mr. Ollivander was with him.  
  
_“It is far greater and more thorough than I imagined we could accomplish,” Mr. Ollivander had said. “Mr. Thomas and I have recrafted this wand; I have only dreamed of such a thing succeeding! But it seems that the wand was ready for something a little extra.”_  
  
And that little extra something had been a kneazle whisker. Or, rather, a half-kneazle whisker. Bill had recalled her connection with Crookshanks and, and with information from Professor McGonagall, had retrieved the whisker from a squib with access to the animal. Mr. Ollivander explained that the project had excited him and gave him a burst of energy. He had been able to access the core of the wand and the whisker and dragon’s heart string accepted each other only when Dean had whittled away some of the walnut and filled the patterns with vine. Instead of simply making the wand look new, Dean Thomas and Mr. Ollivander had also given new life to it.  
  
_“I was concerned that the whisker was from a half-kneazle, but due to the relationship you shared with the cat, it was worth an attempt. Upon my examination of the whisker, there was no question that the animal contained more than enough magic. And so, when there were equal parts new and old, the dual core prospered,” Ollivander said joyfully. “It is a breakthrough in wandmaking that required the work of both you and the wand to succeed. And, I daresay, the natural skill that Mr. Thomas provided. I believe he may be a prodigy.”_  
  
Hermione was mesmerized by the pattern of her wand. The vine and walnut swirled and danced together, looking like smoke on the wind. She felt her magic channel through it and smiled as she holstered it safely under her billowing black robes.   
  
“We should have tried to find more Polyjuice,” Draco mumbled from behind her.  
“Are you saying my transfiguration wasn’t good enough?”  
“I would recognize his expression in a heartbeat.”  
  
She had just completed the charms to disguise Ron as an older foreigner. Admittedly, she had been too scared to attempt much as the charms were very dangerous, but Draco’s comments had her second-guessing her work. She scrutinized the dark beard and broad nose she’d given Ron when a hissing sound broke her thoughts and she eyed the black and white snake wrapped across Draco’s shoulders. Its eyes were green and, if one looked very closely, had small dark rings circling them. Like a pair of glasses.   
  
“Yeah,” said Ron.  
Confused, Hermione turned to him. “How do you know what you look like?”  
“I don’t,” he answered. “But just because Harry’s a snake doesn’t mean I don’t understand his expressions anymore. He’s telling Malfoy to sod off, and I happen to agree.”  
  
“You best lower your voice,” said Draco. “You sound like a seventeen-year old.”  
“Like this?” Ron asked, dropping his voice several octaves, his shoulders rising and chin lowering as he did so.  
  
Hermione was sure the snake rolled his eyes. “I really hope this works,” she said. “I don’t know how confident I am in turning Harry back if we can’t get Fleur to undo her spell.”  
“It’ll work,” Ron said. “And if it doesn’t, you’ll get it figured out. You always do.”  
  
“Okay, then,” she said nervously. “I guess all that’s left is my drinking this potion.” Hermione pulled the container filled with Polyjuice and prepared to add the dark, coarse hair when Draco stopped her hand.  
“Wait,” he said quickly, “before you change.” Quickly unwinding Harry’s snake form from his shoulders, he roughly handed the serpent to Ron. He looked at her, his expression serious, and Hermione tried not to think about how this might be their last day together. That anyone of them might die.  
  
They were all in disguise. Harry as the snake, of course. Ron’s features were changed and he was in simple traveling robes his brother Charlie had acquired on one of his many adventures. Draco was back in his robes from the Manor, blood stained and torn. And Fleur had retrieved robes that easily resembled something Bellatrix might wear for Hermione. They were too tight, flaunting assets Hermione wasn’t sure she was comfortable flaunting. But Draco’s grey eyes were looking carefully at her face, and she appreciated that they landed there as opposed to her pale chest.   
  
“I don’t wanna see this,” Ron muttered and turned around as Draco stepped closer to Hermione.  
  
Draco smirked at Ron’s behavior, but his focus was quickly back on Hermione. “I need you to know that I am going to do everything in my power to keep you, and them,” he said nodding towards Ron and Harry, “safe. I have never felt –” he paused, looking over at Ron and then beginning again, more quietly, “I’ve never felt like this before. I feel like I can really be someone I like when I’m with you. And I need you to know that when all of this is over, I have every intention of courting you properly.”  
  
“Courting?” Ron snorted. “Who still talks like that?”  
“A proper gentleman,” Draco said snidely, but his eyes never left Hermione.   
  
Gently, Draco lifted her face by her chin and leaned down to kiss her. He hesitated, as if asking permission, and Hermione rose her face to his. His lips were soft and warm and Hermione eagerly returned the affection. The tip of his tongue explored hers. Hermione couldn’t help but grab hold of his robes and pull herself tighter against his chest. She didn’t want to forget this moment, and she tried to memorize every detail. The feel of his rough chin against hers. His hand had moved to cup the back of her head, his other was at her side. He tasted of peppermint and smelled of subtle cologne and shampoo.  
  
But the moment couldn’t last forever and Ron cleared his throat, with little subtlety, to hurry them along. With a soft groan, Draco pulled away and looked at her affectionately. “Do be careful. I can’t – I just don’t want anything bad happening to you.” He grabbed one of her white curls, tugging it gently, and kissed her head.  
  
Lost in the moment, she never had the chance to respond, before he took the snake back from Ron.   
“Swear to me, Potter, that you won’t really choke me,” Draco said as he held Harry’s face to his own. “I hope you realize how much I am trusting you by allowing you to travel this way.”  
  
The serpent nodded his head and Hermione found the movement both eerie and reassuring.   
“We’re ready then?” she asked, and at their nod she added the hair and swallowed the thick liquid.  
  
It tasted worse than she had imagined it would. And she felt a moment of intense dread when she saw the look of horror on both Ron’s and Draco’s faces.   
“I’m not a cat again, am I?” she said. Draco’s eyebrow quirked up in confusion, but Hermione found the answer to her question in the asking of it. Her voice was a sinister sounding replica of her nightmares, and she swallowed again trying to lose the taste of the nauseating potion in her mouth.  
  
“All right, Potter,” Draco said. “I’m ready.”   
The snake wound around Draco’s neck and Hermione immediately appreciated the truth in Draco’s words to Harry moments before. It would take nothing for Harry to kill him. That was the point, though. To the wizarding world, Draco was a dead man. So, Fleur had determined to make him a dead man walking.  
  
“Your face is too nice,” Draco said to Hermione. “Like Weasley, I still recognize you from your expression.”  
Hermione immediately scowled and hoped she didn’t look as ridiculous as Ron did doing the same thing across from her.  
“A glower isn’t going to cut it,” Draco drawled. “You had this yesterday. I know you can do this again. The bank is about to open and Fleur has given us a precise time table.”  
  
Hermione exhaled and closed her eyes and when she opened them she was Bellatrix Lestrange. Draco gave a curt nod and held out his hand. Ron took her other and Hermione, taking a deep breath and holding her shoulders arrogantly, apparated them to Charing Cross Road in muggle London.   
  
Of course, it should have come as no surprise that their plans were immediately disrupted. The moment they exited the Leaky Cauldron on their way to the north side of Diagon Alley, a man called out to the copy of Bellatrix, pleading for the whereabouts of his children. There were numerous people along the Alley, looking haggard and unwell. Hermione grit her teeth and took to heart the words Draco murmured behind her.  
  
“The only way to help his family is to get this done,” Draco said. “Ignore him. Move forward.”  
  
But the man would not be ignored, and he lunged towards them. With a bang and a red burst of magic, he was hurled away from them and Hermione looked at Ron, whose wand was still held outstretched before him. Hermione was uncertain what they should do now, as they had certainly garnered unwanted attention, but before she could even ask Ron and Draco, a man’s voice cried out behind her.  
  
“Madam Lestrange!”  
  
“It’s Quill Travers,” Draco hissed so quietly she could barely hear him. “He’s another Death Eater.”  
Hermione, though thankful for the name, had no idea how to greet the man as he approached her, looking at her suspiciously.   
  
“Travers,” she said as haughtily as she could muster. Deciding that because she didn’t know how to speak with the man, she wouldn’t, she nodded curtly. “I have not time for idle conversation and must be going,” she said quickly and turned from him.   
“I see that it has already delayed you,” Travers said, as if he hadn’t heard her, and pointing at the unconscious man on the ground, continued his conversation. “What did it do to you?” But, his tone changed abruptly. “My word, is that who I think it is?” he asked, shocked.  
Hermione turned back to Travers, unsurprised that his eyes were looking past her at Draco.  
  
“Do you mean my pet?” she drawled, stroking her finger along the back of the snake on Draco’s neck.  
Traver’s eyebrows raised. “Your pet?” he laughed softly. “No. I was under the impression all occupants of the Manor were either deceased or locked under guard,” he asked, accusation in his words as he looked her up and down.  
  
“Oh, you must mean him,” she sighed and looked scornfully at Draco. “Your information appears to be incomplete,” she said. “I have served the Dark Lord faithfully and his forgiveness was, unquestionably, given to me. This boy behind me, however, has failed in all of his tasks and caused the disaster that befell his home. Unfortunately, as his only living relative, it is I who must see to his needs. I have an appointment at Gringotts to address that now, and I must be going.”  
  
“I was sorry to hear about the passing of your mother, Draco. She was a fine woman,” said Travers. There was no mistaking the mocking tone and Draco lunged forward.  
Hermione raised her wand quickly and the snake around his neck hissed loudly while tightening its body around Draco’s neck, restraining Draco’s movements. Draco had stretched his neck, holding his head as high away from Harry as he could, but keeping his face turned from Travers, he winked at Hermione, letting her know he was fine.  
“Now, now, my pet,” Hermione crooned and Harry relaxed his form. Hermione reached over and stroked Harry’s head, but she narrowed her eyes at Travers. “You would not be disrespecting my late sister?” she snarled.   
  
She realized, too late, that Travers was staring at her wand.   
“Of course not, Bellatrix. My apologies if I was misinterpreted.”  
Hermione looked at him as if an unpleasant smell were coming off of him and then quickly turned from him again, snapping her fingers at Ron and Draco, but keeping her wand ready at her side.   
  
“Who is your friend?” Travers asked, matching his pace to hers.   
Hermione easily settled on the story they’d put together. Draco had told them that Bellatrix was known to recruit many wizards to the cause, so an unfamiliar face of her most recent find would be completely acceptable. “My new recruit for the Dark Lord,” Hermione hummed and reminded herself to relax her shoulders and hold her nose a little higher. Travers was beneath her. She felt a hum from her wand and breathed deeply again. “Dragomir Despard,” she continued, “from Transylvania.”  
  
Travers eyed Ron distastefully and then ignored him completely. “I am going to Gringotts, as well,” Travers said and Hermione forced her expression to remain indifferent. “I will walk you there,” he added.  
  
Hermione felt the nervous energy bubbling in her chest, and let it escape from her mouth in a disdainful laugh, oblivious to how perfectly it resembled those of Bellatrix. “I have plenty of escorts, Travers. But walk with me if you find yourself wanting protection from the paupers on the road.”  
  
Travers pursed his lips, but said nothing more. Hermione was getting extremely nervous. The white stairs to the bank were just up ahead and there was no way they could escape Travers’ attention if they tried to avoid the Probity Probes used by the recently employed wizard guards. She hesitated at the stairway, when Travers released a violent sneeze.   
  
And then another.   
And another.   
  
Travers was unable to move forward as he was sneezing so forcefully, hunched over and holding his nose with each sneeze. Hermione looked towards the entrance and saw Fleur was waiting there, her wand just peeking out of the sleeve of her robes. Hermione, Draco and Ron hurried up the stairs.   
Fleur quickly stepped out in front of the two guards. “Sir,” she called out to Travers. “Sir, are you alright?” Turning to the guards, she pointed back at Travers. “’e is blocking the stairs!” she said. “Madam Lestrange nearly tripped because of ‘im. Remove ‘im.”  
The two wizarding guards looked at Fleur as if drunk on admiration and Hermione assumed that Fleur had used her Veela charm to distract them. Using the exchange for what it was, Hermione, Ron and Draco entered the bank through the burnished bronze doors, never having been examined by the Probity Probes.  
  
They moved through the small entryway and, distracted by their hurried evasion of the guards, missed the dire warning to thieves engraved upon the second set of doors. Behind them, Fleur was still speaking sweetly to the guards while Travers continued to sneeze uncontrollably. “Do not bother ‘er. I knew ‘er name because you already checked ‘er. Get rid of that man. ‘E is still in the way.”  
  
Relaxing her shoulders and looking around the lobby as if bored, Hermione slowly walked forward.  
“Madam Lestrange,” Fleur said, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “My apologies for the disturbance outside. The ministry guards are dealing with ‘im.”  
  
With great difficulty, Hermione swallowed her pleasant reply. “This boy and I wish to enter our vaults,” she said curtly.   
“Oui, yes of course,” Fleur said and motioned Hermione to the vast marble counter, as long as the hall, where the goblin tellers sat. “Nottmutton will assist you.”  
  
There were sniggers along the goblin line, quickly masked behind coughs and clearing of throats. Hermione found comfort in their sounds. Fleur had explained that the goblins would eagerly anticipate that Nottmutton would give a known Death Eater a challenging time. As he would attempt to delay her visit, there would be no doubt that she was who she said she was if she passed his taxing inspection.  
  
Fleur directed Hermione and her party to the station where a customer had just departed. An angry looking goblin stared cruelly at her as she approached, his teeth bared and hands clenched.   
“Madam Lestrange,” Nottmutton snarled, “how may I help you this morning?”  
“My nephew and I wish to enter our vaults.”  
“I assume you have identification?”  
Hermione forced the rage onto her face as more coughs and throat clearing could be heard. Fleur had warned her that this would be asked, but that it was not a typical request and she must act surprised.   
“Identification? Do I look like some sort of mudblood to you?” she spat. “I have never been asked such a thing before.”  
“Your wand will suffice,” Nottmutton replied, holding out his hand.   
  
In their long pursuit of harnessing wand magic, the goblins had studied it thoroughly. Though still unable to apply wand wielding to their own magic due to wizarding law, they had become alarmingly adept at recognizing the unique impression of the different magic used in wands. To the goblins, a wand bearer’s magic signature was as unique as a fingerprint in the muggle world.  
  
“My nephew no longer carries a wand,” Hermione said. “As his only living relative, it is my obligation to see that he is provided for. As his father’s will clearly states his caregiver must assist him in finding gainful, challenging and respectable employment, I would like him to interview for a dragon feeder position. Ideally, he can feed the dragon by the Lestrange Vault so I may… visit him when I enter my vault. He may reside there in the position and share the dragon’s food, and thus will have a roof over his head. There is no need of a wand in such employment.”  
“I will not—!” Draco started, but the snake wrapped tightly around his neck and choked off his words. None of the goblins bothered to disguise their laughter at Draco’s predicament.  
  
Nottmutton glared at Draco harshly. “Your wand, Madam Lestrange,” the goblin repeated.  
“Has been replaced,” Hermione said coldly and pulled her wand quickly, pointing it straight to Nottmutton’s face before laying it down before him.   
Straightaway, two goblins crowded Nottmutton to stare at the wand.   
“What is that?” one asked.  
“Does it even work?” the other said.  
“We were under the impression that there were no longer any wandmakers,” Nottmutton said toothily. He nudged the wand with his finger and growled. Swiftly, he pointed to another goblin at the end of the counter and then up and diagonally towards a shelf of books. The goblin sprang from his seat and retrieved a large volume and brought it to Nottmutton who immediately leafed through its pages.  


“The Dark Lord would never allow his most loyal servant to be ill equipped in these dangerous times,” Hermione said. She flung her hair back and lifted her nose higher in the air.   
Nottmutton slammed the tome shut and the two goblins behind him mumbled to themselves as they returned to their seats.  
“This wand is linked to you,” Nottmutton mumbled as he looked between her and the wand in front of him. “And the magical signature, though changed, is consistent with the magical signature of the wand on record,” he said, sounding annoyed. “This wand is an acceptable form of identification.”  
“Our time is important, goblin. Are there any other obstacles before we may enter our vaults?”  
  
Nottmutton stared at Draco. “Identification?” he said.  
Hermione’s heart dropped. They were not prepared for this. She stared at the goblin before her and watched as he smirked at her. He was not, it would seem, willing to open two vaults.  
“He has no wand,” Hermione repeated.  
“His dark mark will do.”  
  
Before Hermione could even imagine an answer to save them, Draco growled behind her and stepped forward. Petulantly, he lifted the sleeve of his torn robes and revealed his pale arm and the black mark on his skin. She wanted to vomit. The mark was impossible to duplicate, and was thus a sure way to identify any one using Polyjuice. His mark was _back._  
  
Nottmutton released an irritated growl and hopped down from his seat.   
“This way,” he said and led the group to the vault passageways.   
Nottmutton stopped suddenly, however, and turned back to the lobby. “Mrs. Weasley,” he called to Fleur. “We also have a job applicant for the feeder position.”  
  
The goblin laughed harshly as he stared at Draco, a chorus of sniggers sounding down the lobby counter.   
The clicking sound of Fleur’s heels could be heard over the laughter and she joined the waiting group. Another goblin had readied a cart for them, and after a quick head-count of the number of all passengers, the cart began the decent to the lowest level vaults.  
  
In no time, the cart was speeding down the tracks. It moved so quickly, it was impossible to see what anything was outside of the cart.  
“Nottmutton!” Fleur called out. “You must slow down, or we will never undo their charms in time!”  
“You told me he wasn’t one of them,” yelled Nottmutton. “But he has the mark!”  
“’E’s not! It is fake!”  
  
Hermione was counteracting the charms she had placed on Ron and watched her hands as they returned to her own. Incredibly, they had held to Fleur’s timetable and the Polyjuice she had taken was wearing off.   
  
“They cannot be counterfeited!” the goblin roared.  
“I drew it!” Draco yelled back. “I’ve seen it everyday of my life. It’s just ink and enough subtle changes so it would stay; no magic in it at all!”  
Draco pulled his mother’s wand from his hidden holster and cast a _Scourgify_ on his arm. The mark was gone instantly and Hermione let out a relieved cry. Draco looked at her sharply, and then reached over to her and grabbed her hand reassuringly.   
  
“I missed your face,” he said over the rumble of the cart. Hermione smiled, briefly distracted from the anxiety of the situation.  
“That was smart thinking, to draw the mark on your arm,” she said.  
Draco smirked.  
  
“Nottmutton!” Fleur cried again. “The Thief’s Downfall!”  
The blonde Veela was furiously waving her wand and casting spells at the snake beside Draco as the sound of rushing water became louder and louder.  
  
Hermione squeezed Draco’s hand. Fleur had to return Harry to his human form before they reached the waterfall. If the water hit any concealments or charms, it would cancel them immediately and throw the cart off the tracks. And, it would sound an alarm. It only verified that there were no charms in place and that the number of beings in the cart matched the number that were aboard when the cart was engaged at the lobby. As long as they removed their enchantments, then there would be nothing to trigger the alarms because Harry would have been counted even as a snake.   
  
Hermione bit back a terrified scream when she felt a drop of water hit her face. She turned to look at the tracks ahead and watched in horror as the cart rushed towards the falling water. Fleur’s voice rang out in a high-pitched wail, and it wasn’t until after the cold water had drenched the occupants of the cart, that Hermione realized the cry was one of triumph.  
  
No alarms sounded. The cart was still on the track. Harry was crammed between Ron and Draco. And all of them but Nottmutton were smiling.  
That changed, however, when Fleur smacked the angry looking goblin on the arm when he slowed the cart and stopped inside a circular cavern in the passageways. There were several vaults around the cavern, and a serene looking Sphynx was staring at them, it’s face partially lit by the torches adorning each vault door.  
Hermione swallowed carefully, fully aware of how dangerous the Sphynx could be if it were angered.  
  
“You mean little goblin,” Fleur cried out. “Why did you do that?”  
Nottmutton quickly hid a small smile before answering, all anger gone from his voice. “They’re still suspicious. If I’d slowed the cart, they’d come investigate.”  
“You should ‘ave warned me,” Fleur said indignantly as the magic of the passageways dried their skin and clothes.  
  
Draco and the goblin climbed out of the cart. They had opted to go to the Malfoy Vault first as it was deeper in the passageways. Then, they would take the cart back up to the Lestrange Vault, which was closer to their hush-hush exit out of the labyrinth. Draco had told them that it would only take a moment to retrieve his item, and he had not lied. He made quick work of the riddle asked by the Sphynx guarding the Malfoy Vault and before the large door had even finished opening, he was already climbing back into the cart.   
“Did you even get anything?” Ron asked. “Or did you just want to smell all your gold?”  
  
“Maybe someday you’ll know what a satisfying experience that is, Weasel,” Draco snarled back, “but I only needed one small item.”  
Draco raised his hand and Hermione noticed that he was now wearing a pale ring with some kind of stone.  
“Is that jade?” she asked and smiled at his nod.   
“Jadeite, to be precise,” he replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. “And an important heirloom.”  
“How will that help you find your parents?” Harry asked, his voice still raspy from his time as a snake.   
“They have their own,” Draco answered easily, “the rings are connected magically and will glow the closer they are to each other.”  
  
“We’re almost there,” Nottmutton interrupted. “No one else wants to visit their family vaults?” he asked mockingly.  
Ron snorted while Fleur narrowed her eyes at the goblin.   
“Do you know what you must do when we get to the vault?” Nottmutton asked Harry, who nodded.  
“We’ll all go to the vault. We follow you to get past a dragon. You and I will go into the vault. I’m not to touch anything,” Harry said. “And I need to use the pole outside the vault to retrieve what I’m after.”  
“And you swear to me that this item will help you destroy him?”  
  
Harry looked carefully at the goblin. “I swear to you that if the item is there, it will help us end him.”  
Satisfied, the goblin accelerated the cart towards another cavern. But a moment later, his expression soured.  
  
“Someone is there,” he whispered. “Griphook.”  
“That traitor,” hissed Ron.  
“How’s he a traitor, Ron?” Harry asked. “We don’t know why he’s here.”  
  
Hermione focused on the goblin that stood between the tracks and the uneasy dragon protecting the vault ahead. Griphook was dressed in goblin armor, a silver pick-axe in his hand. And there was no question that he was guarding the entrance to the Lestrange Family Vault. He grimaced at the group of them, and stood poised, ready to attack.

The cart came to a slow halt, but Nottmutton remained in his seat.  
“Griphook,” he called out, calmly.  
“Nottmutton,” Griphook answered. “I know of your hate for the Death Eaters, but this does not permit you to allow thieves into their vaults.”  
Nottmutton leaned back, as if bored. “This is the Malfoy heir. He had every right to enter his vault.”  
  
Griphook didn’t bother to reply. He just continued to stare at the group.   
As if realizing there would be no other opportunity to enter the vault, Fleur addressed Griphook. “This is the ‘eir of the Black House,” she said, gesturing towards Harry. “And Bellatrix ‘as items that do not belong in ‘er vault. Mr. Potter wishes to return them to their rightful owner.”  
  
“I am no fool!” hissed Griphook, agitated so forcefully by his anger, his helmet slid back from his head. “Do not try to outwit me and act as if this doesn’t fall under the terms on our door! You are thieves! The moment I realized that Madam Lestrange was here with her nephew to open her vault, I knew who it really was! I heard her bellowing about your having been in her vault! There is no question she is hiding something here.” He turned to Nottmutton. “But why are you helping them? Have you forgotten who you are? Fortius Quo Fidelius!”  
“That is exactly why I am here!” shouted Nottmutton. “You are protecting those who slaughter us! Do you value treasure over goblins?”  
  
“I have the wand and the necessary access to this vault,” Hermione said, still emulating Bellatrix.   
Griphook stared at her. “They will murder us,” he snarled. “Had I ignored what I knew, it would have been treachery! I will consider letting you go, however, if you give me the sword!”  
Harry straightened even more, his eyes darting to where the beaded bag was hidden under Hermione’s robes.  
“It was me she was torturing while you heard her fixate about that sword!” Hermione snarled back at him. “She views us as less than her because of her blood. But do you and I not bleed red, too? You must let us into that vault. It is the only way we can end this war!”  
  
Griphook was never given a chance to consider her arguments, though. As he opened his mouth, his expression furious, Nottmutton hurled a triangular shaped block from the cart bottom at his exposed head. Griphook fell indelicately to the ground, a large knot already forming on his forehead.  
  
“We must hurry!” Nottmutton exclaimed. “We cannot be sure if he’s told anyone!”  
As if on cue, angry alarms sounded through the passageways. Draco helped Hermione climb out of the cart and the group hurried behind Nottmutton while he clanged loud noise-clappers together to frighten the blind dragon backwards; an obvious sign of abuse Hermione recognized.   
  
“What will we do now?” Hermione asked Fleur. “Griphook will tell the others you two helped us!”  
“It will be fine. We ‘ave a plan,” Fleur said. But her tone lacked its earlier confidence.  
Harry and Griphook were already inside the vault and Draco hurried the women along, pulling Hermione towards the vault and further away from the dragon.  
“You must come with us!” Ron said quickly, just behind Fleur. “Bill will never forgive me if anything happens to you! I’d never forgive myself!”  
  
Fleur shook her head as they stopped outside the entrance to the Lestrange Vault. “Griphook never saw who threw the wheel stop. And ‘e and Nottmutton are notorious rivals. It will be easy to say Griphook put the idea in your heads and one of you threw the block and forced Nottmutton to open the vault.”  
“Yes,” said Draco. “Easy.”  
  
The alarms sounding had agitated the dragon and it was whining and growling, sniffing the air with its large snout. Hermione stared at it, uneasily. She was torn between pity for the mistreated creature, and fear of what it would do to them should it find them.   
  
“Got it!” yelled Harry excitedly from the other side of the vault and Hermione grinned wildly at Draco. He was smiling back at her, relief evident on his face. All that was left was to follow the correct underground passage under the city and escape through the floor of an associate of Nottmutton’s.  
  
But a voice called out over the high-pitched screams of the alarms, and the moment of relief vanished.   
“Thieves!”  
The word echoed through the cavern and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. It had not been a goblin to shout out in the darkness of these passageways. It had been the cruel, high voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. 


	29. Stirring Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence, mutilation, voyeurism, drowning, torture

Before the Death Eaters had escaped Azkaban in Draco’s third year, his father had been far more relaxed inside the walls of Malfoy Manor. There had been no need for heavy robes or weapons disguised as walking sticks. His hair had not been corded back. His sleeves had not been cuffed at the wrist, but rather rolled up, and his collar had been unbuttoned.  
  
Make no mistake, though, Lucius Malfoy had always been a difficult man. His moods would make Draco either his complete focus, or a distraction not even worth his attention. Draco could recall numerous occasions where he would go days, or even weeks, without so much as a word from his father. He would only see the elder man at the dining room table, and if his father’s moods were dark, Draco would only speak when spoken to. When Lucius was in an energetic or happier mood, he would include Draco in his meetings at the ministry or with businesses he had invested in. And, if there was time, they would stop for small excursions along the way. The ice cream parlor or quidditch shop. The botanical gardens or museum of wizarding history. During these outings, his father would pontificate on the mission of the first war: to restore order and secure their rights as the true leaders of the wizarding world. But his father’s declarations were those of a man who knew his side had lost and, though bitter, held no real intention of stirring the cauldron, so to say.  
  
When news spread that Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts, many of Lucius’s arguments for Draco to attend Durmstrang faded away and, instead, he began instilling in Draco the importance of establishing his superiority over Harry Potter while simultaneously persuading him to join Draco’s group of friends. When Draco had informed his father that Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor and made a Weasley his sidekick, he expected his father to relent. But Lucius Malfoy was clear: make Potter your subordinate. At Draco’s failure, Lucius stopped sending him any kind of correspondence. Draco’s mother escalated hers, including treats and gifts, as if that would lessen the blow of his father’s neglect. But her efforts only heightened the absence of his father’s.  
  
Lucius Malfoy was obsessed with Harry Potter. And if his son could not convince Potter to allow him to guide Potter in the ways of the wizarding world, then Draco must show him what he was missing by not aligning himself with their side. Draco soon felt the conflicted emotions of both looking forward to and dreading the times that Lucius was duty-bound to interact with him. Draco always hoped he would discover his father’s obsession with Potter had waned, but inevitably, the questions regarding what Harry Potter was up to would relentlessly arise. Draco’s father wasn’t nearly as interested in what Draco could do as he was in what Harry Potter had already done. And Draco wasn’t sure he could ever forgive Harry for that.  
  
Bellatrix Lestrange came back into Draco’s life in his third year at Hogwarts. It was the first time Draco could remember meeting her. The experience had been a horrifying one; being introduced to a woman who had been locked away in Azkaban for over a decade. The stink of her had filled the room and her tattered prison garb had given view of a skeletal body under loose grey skin. But the most frightening thing about that night had been how Draco’s parents had behaved. His initial thoughts had been that his parents were afraid of the Dark Lord. Who wouldn’t be, really? The dark wizard had managed to infiltrate the wizarding prison and rescue his loyal followers. Perhaps, his parents were afraid because they had given up on the war?   
  
What little excitement Draco had felt when learning that his aunt and several other Death Eaters were arriving at the manor faded quickly. His Aunt Bella had raved at his father, her insanity a stark contrast to the order Draco had known in his home, and his parents had catered to her every whim. To Draco’s exasperation, when Bellatrix almost immediately inquired on Harry Potter, his father had ample news to provide. It was at his father’s mention of Hogwarts that Bellatrix had turned her attention to Draco.   
  
No matter how familiar Draco had become with Bellatrix over the years that followed, he always felt the same disquiet under her scrutiny as he had felt that night. He had been too naïve to know he should protect himself from her. When her eyes had bored into his, he felt as though his brain were being pulled apart like bread inside his skull. She had laughed at him when he fell to the floor, but when she commanded him to get back up and he had ignored her, her laughter turned to ire.   
  
It had happened so quickly, Draco to this day still didn’t know how she’d done it, but she grabbed his hair and pulled him towards her. She smelled his head and let him go, rubbing her fingers together as if looking for any kind of residue. And then she had laughed sweetly. A joyful sound at odds with her previous behavior and, as she nestled him tightly against her starved, putrid form, she grinned at his mother as if she were proud of her.   
  
Draco had never been able to decide which mood terrified him more. Bellatrix’s joy or her anger. But as her furious voice rebounded through the caverns of the passageways under Gringotts Bank, he knew his fear was palpable.  
“Thieves!” she shrieked, each echo of her angry roar sounding in his head and triggering countless memories of her wrath.  
He looked around at his companions and couldn’t shake the despair that it was this group he had to rely on. Would they help him? Or just each other? He would stand by his promise to Hermione, however, and do all in his power to safeguard them.   
  
He could hear his father’s voice mocking him. How dare a pureblood Malfoy act in such a manner? How dare he cast aside all that had been given him to stand with… no, to stand for, his enemies that would let him perish?  
  
“Thieves!” Bellatrix screeched again.  
She was not alone. Travers was with her and several goblins were in another cart racing after them. Her dark hair was flailing behind her whipping Travers in the face and she looked savage.  
  
Hermione was at Draco’s side, her presence reassuring him. Her unusual wand was outstretched before her and Draco mirrored her stance with his mother’s wand. _His wand._ He had felt its allegiance shift at the cottage and he was confident he would be in top form. Whatever came of this encounter, Draco knew that he actually believed in what he was fighting for now. He was fighting for a future; for his own and for the witches and wizards of his generation. And that felt much more meaningful than fighting for his right to be called the best.  
  
“We can’t escape now,” Hermione said beside him. “We’ll give Nottmutton and his allies away if we do.”  
Draco couldn’t help but look at her. When had he finally accepted what the weight in his chest meant when he thought of her? The dread he had felt hadn’t been because he hated to be near her, but because he had been sure she could never be anything more to him than the muggleborn witch his parents would never approve of.   
  
He almost smiled at her. Her hair was a frightful mess, her curls wild and bushy. The dark robes she was wearing were loose around her slight form. She was so small. He pushed down the instinct to pull her behind him and protect her. She was ready for battle and he would not deny her that; he knew she could stand her ground.  
“Hermione,” he started and she looked at him. Her eyes were so beautiful. Inquisitive, as always, and focused solely on him. Draco swallowed hard, not sure if he wanted to admit that he was afraid. Or how to put into words what it was that he was afraid of.   
  
“How are you alive? What have you done?” Bellatrix shrieked as the cart’s breaks squealed loudly. Her magic was emanating off of her as she easily jumped from the cart and sidestepped Griphook’s body on the ground. The dragon was snarling and hissing, its wings fighting against their restraints and causing a rattling in the air, but Bellatrix paid the dragon no heed.   
  
The flickering light from the torches made it difficult to make out the faces of Travers and the goblins approaching behind Bellatrix, but their intent was clear in the ways they held themselves. Bellatrix’s continued uproar had caught the attention of the dragon and it pulled angrily against its chains, panicking the goblins. The dragon lunged and pulled, emitting a hoarse roar and spitting small bursts of fire in Bellatrix’s direction. The dark witch and Travers pushed forward, however, and were quickly before the group.  
  
“Luna had told Fleur that she should not fight if she had a way out,” said Harry, who had come up with Ron on the other side of Hermione. His voice was quiet. “She and Nottmutton are making their way through the Hush Hush tunnel.”  
“Where does that leave us, then?” Draco muttered.  
  
Abruptly, Travers pushed past Bellatrix and lunged forward, his wand pointed directly at the group. Harry and Ron were ready for him, however. Together, before Travers could make another move, Ron cast a jinx and Harry disarmed him. Travers’ eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground in front of Bellatrix while Harry caught the wand that flew his way.  
  
Bellatrix appeared bored as she looked at the man on the ground and wielded her own wand. Draco was fascinated by his aunt’s new weapon. He had never seen anything like it before. It looked like ivory that was wrapped in leaves and wood. With a lazy swish of her jagged wand, Travers’ body flew to the side and crashed against the wall opposite the angry dragon. A small moan was heard before the loud drop of his body hitting the passageway floor.   
  
The goblins were absorbed in their efforts against the dragon, as if they had forgotten the wand bearers completely. It was understandable, however, as Draco realized that somehow the dragon had retrieved the unconscious Griphook in its jaws and was shaking his body violently with its teeth. It would seem that Bellatrix was all that stood in their way from … from what? Draco swallowed. How were they going to get out of this?  
  
As if reading his thoughts Bellatrix began to laugh. It started as a low rumbling sound and quickly escalated to her high-pitched cackle.   
“You will not escape me this time!” she said through her laughter. “What were you thinking, little bird?” she asked, staring straight at Draco. “Did you think I would believe you to be their prisoner? I have read the doubt in your mind for too many years to question why you’re with them.”  
  
She raised her wand in a blur, but before whatever spell she’d cast could hit its mark, Hermione had cast a shield in front of herself and the three young men who stood with her.   
  
Draco sucked in air and waited. She was too close to them and he was confident Bellatrix would notice one of two things, he just hoped she didn’t notice both. Of the two, the wand Hermione was using was likely the most dangerous thing for her to recognize. He stared intently at his aunt’s eyes and knew the moment she registered the white strands in Hermione’s hair. Bellatrix’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing again.   
“Consorting with mudbloods, Draco?” Bellatrix hissed. “Just how low have you gone?”  
  
He had been right. When she’d come home his third year, she’d been distracted about his hair color. The white strands meant something to her. Draco remained silent, however, refusing to rise to her bait. He had practiced the Killing Curse with a training wand and dummies in the Room of Requirement for the better part of a year when trying to find the courage to kill an old man. Would he have the courage to kill her?   
  
“Do you think a simple shield charm will stop me?” she taunted. Circling her unusual wand over the ground, Bellatrix seemed to chant something under her breath and then raised her hands high above her head.   
  
The ground beneath them began to tremble and the cavern walls began to shake. And then, just in front of Hermione, a large crack formed on the ground and giant vines emerged from the rock. Swiftly, Draco moved in front of Hermione and pulled her back. He felt the shield she’d cast fall away as she fell back into him.  
  
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? So, have you found a way to protect her?” Bellatrix asked. “Or did you accidently make her mine?”  
“She will never be yours!” Draco hollered. “Just go, Aunt. Return to your Dark Lord and leave us alone!”  
  
Harry and Ron were arguing heatedly behind them. Ron was obviously opposed to whatever idea Harry was devising, but Draco knew it was in their best interest to keep his aunt focused solely on himself and hope that Harry’s good luck would save them. Draco hastily pushed aside the thought that his fate may be that of Cedric Diggory’s.  
  
“Do you want the Dark Lord to know of your failure?” he asked his aunt. “That you recruited me to kill the headmaster knowing I was too scared to do it? It was never Professor Snape’s fault! I was prepared to join the Order before I was interrupted. I would never have killed him. Shall I tell the Dark Lord you put your mission in the hands of the wrong boy? That you failed! I can reveal countless failures on your part!”  
  
Bellatrix just laughed at Draco as the vines she’d cast beat down on the ground by his feet, hurtling dust and rock up towards his and Hermione’s faces before looming before them like snakes ready to strike.  
“Leave him, Mudbloood!” the dark-haired witch commanded. “Get away from him!”  
  
“Never!” Hermione shouted, moving closer to Draco. “I will never abandon him!”  
  
Bellatrix screamed and raised her wand, the _Crucio_ already forming on her lips. Draco moved quickly to shield Hermione with his body and prevent Bellatrix from having any access to her small form as the crippling spell hit him square in the back. But Hermione’s hand was unexpectedly at his belt and he felt the weight of the dagger he had secretly carried there pull away with her hand.   
  
Hermione grunted in concentration as her arm sailed back behind her head and forward again; her voice a yell as the dagger left her hand. And then the pain left Draco and all he could hear was a blood curdling scream. The vines around them turned brittle and Harry kicked them to the ground. Ron was pulling Hermione forward, her other hand grabbing tightly onto Draco’s.  
  
And all the deafening noises in the cavern seemed to intensify. The tight roars of the dragon. The screams and yells of the goblins as they tried to control the animal they had abused for years. The crumpling sound of goblin armor as it was spit from the dragon’s mouth. And Bellatrix’s crying shrieks.   
  
Draco turned back to look at his aunt as he was pulled blindly forward. Her hands covered her face, blood spilling from between her fingers. And the dagger Hermione had thrown was sticking out of her left eye socket; an obscene protrusion on what, perhaps a lifetime ago, had once been a beautiful face.  
  
“Stop them!” Bellatrix shrieked through her cries. “Thieves!”  
  
Immediate confusion seemed to settle on the goblins, as if they had truly been unaware of Bellatrix and the younger witch and wizards she was arguing with. It struck Draco as rather odd that Harry and Ron were leading them directly towards the goblins who were now very intent on killing them when he realized that it wasn’t the goblins they were headed for.   
  
Draco opened his mouth, ready to scream at the fools he was with, when he heard Potter yell out.   
“_Relashio!”_  
There were several loud clanging noises as the shackles binding the dragon fell to the ground and Draco was left with no doubt that Harry Potter had a death wish.   
Hermione was demanding Harry explain himself one moment and the next, Draco felt himself being pulled up onto the hard, scaled back of a mostly-blind dragon. He nodded an automatic thanks to Ron and Hermione and, just before he made it to a somewhat secure position on the dragon, he heard what sounded like metal sliding on metal. With quick reflexes, he caught a golden cup that Harry was reaching for. The moment he touched it, he felt hollow and as if all hope was lost.  
“Keep it safe!” Harry called down to him from his perch higher up and Draco gave a curt nod. He had the Horcrux. But any appreciation he felt that Potter trusted him with it was lost. He tied the cup to the sheath he'd kept the dagger in and cast a spell to fasten it.   
  
Once he had secured the cup, he mostly used his legs to hold on tightly to the back of the large beast. His fear was at bay due to the adrenaline, he knew. But his delight couldn’t be contained. Hermione shook her head when she looked back at him as the dragon, seeming to realize that it was no longer chained, stood fully and prepared to open its wings.  
  
With an unhappy growl the dragon stopped its movement, however. The caverns and passageways were too cramped for the beast to spread its wings. Instead, it blew fire and tore the wooden tracks and overhangs with its massive limbs. The goblins were throwing daggers at them and Draco, again, shielded Hermione. He couldn’t help but think of the dagger protruding from his aunt’s face and swallowed both his pleasure and disgust. As the dragon pushed forward through the passageways, the weapons the goblins threw only bounced off its strong scales. Draco closed his eyes, realizing they could only hope that the goblins’ aim wasn’t as good as Hermione’s.   
  
The space had become hot from the fires and dust was falling down all around them.   
“Can we help it?” he called out, immediately feeling the tickle of the ash and debris in his throat.  
He felt Hermione shift and raise her wand. “_Defodio!” _ she cried out.   
Draco smirked. She really was quite clever. Raising his own wand, he repeated her spell, noticing Harry and Ron do the same.   
  
For what seemed an eternity, they cast their spells and the dragon tore its way up through the passageways until, finally, it burst through the marble floor of the bank lobby. The beast climbed up, satisfied with itself. With a giant belch it scorched the long counter that seated the many goblins and then spread its wings fully, breaking pillars and striking down light fixtures. Turning slowly, it whipped its tail at the large metal doors, knocking them from their hinges. And after it wiggled its way through the opening, the dragon seemed to smell the sky before reaching to the heavens with its wings and taking flight, never aware of the stowaways on its back.  
  
Draco could feel the heat in his skin, on his face and hands, and knew that he was likely burned. He had no doubt that the others were in just as bad as shape as he was in. Mercifully, the cool air was like a balm on his injuries. The dragon seemed content to just fly, but Draco wondered what they would do when it decided to land. They wouldn’t be able to hide on its back forever.  
  
He briefly considered asking Hermione to try to apparate them away, but her soft sobs stopped him. Straining his tired leg muscles, he reached out and pulled her closer to him. She yelped at the movement, but he wrapped his arms securely around her.   
“I’ve got you,” he called out over the wind. “I won’t let you fall.”  
Her sobs quieted, though the tension in her body didn’t ease.   
  
The air became cooler as the dragon flew over a large body of water. Draco could hear Potter’s voice calling back to them, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying.  
“What’s he shouting?” Draco called to Hermione.  
“We’re to jump in the water when the dragon flies low enough,” she called back her voice shaking, from the wind or her nerves Draco wasn’t sure.  
  
Draco looked to the water below, awed by the reflection of the dragon on its surface. He hesitated briefly when Harry shouted out for them to jump; the water was still so far away. Draco still had his arms around Hermione, however, and felt himself slide off the dragon’s scales as she launched herself towards the water.   
  
He had felt her grip him tightly as they fell, but as soon as his body crashed into the freezing water they lost hold of one another. Draco kicked as hard as he could for the surface, but he felt like something kept pulling him back down. For one brief moment, his head rose up and he drank in as much air as he could. Before going under, however, he heard multiple screams. Hermione was urgently calling out for him. And Harry was in agony; Draco feared Potter must have broken something.   
  
The water was green and filled with reeds. Whatever was pulling him down had him by his waist, but Draco no longer felt like fighting his way to the top and he ignored whatever it was. Everything would be so much easier if he just sank to the bottom and filled his lungs with the glowing water.  
  
His limbs seemed to catch up with the decision his mind had made, and they stopped flaying for the surface. He waited for his feet to touch the floor, but a pale freckled hand was in front of his face and then pulling at his collar. The jerking motion of his being pulled forward seemed to reawaken his desire to reach the surface, and he began kicking his way up again.   
  
Time was his enemy, though. Draco was seeing spots and his lungs were on fire and he tried not to. He really tried to wait. But his lungs demanded air, ignorant of the consequences. And as soon as he had done it, as soon as he had inhaled the green water, he felt like his lungs were going to explode. There was no way to cough the water out; no way to replace the liquid with the needed breath.  
  
His mind was still working, still cognizant, somehow. Potter must have been alright after all because Draco heard him urging Ron forward. He felt another set of hands pull him out of the water. Their hands were under Draco’s shoulders, dragging his feet across the ground and laying him down.   
  
And suddenly there were wet lips on his own, pushing air into his already full lungs. And there was so much pressure on his chest.   
  
“Is now the time to be kissing him?” he heard Ron ask.  
“I think she’s doing CPR,” Potter answered, his voice strained.  
“What’s that?”  
“It’s a muggle way of forcing someone to cough out the fluid in their lungs.”  
  
“Hermione!” Ron yelled. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”  
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, yes! Draco, please wake up!” she cried out. “_Rennervate!_”  
  
Draco’s eyes flew open and he coughed out the water in his lungs, turning to his side just in time to prevent it from spilling all over himself. He barely had a moment to catch his breath before Hermione was pulling him up and wrapping her arms tightly around him.   
  
“What happened?” she asked. “Don’t you know how to swim?”  
“Of course I do,” he coughed. “But something was pulling me down.”

“The Horcrux,” Ron said. “The lake isn’t even that deep but when you weren’t coming up, I realized that must be what happened. I had to pull Harry out of water for the same reason.”  
  
Draco quickly removed the blasted thing from his sheath and looked to Harry, remembering the agonizing screams he’d heard.   
“What happened to you?” he asked the bespectacled young man as he tossed the cup in his direction. “I heard you when I was trying to get air. You sounded miserable.”  
Hermione had busied herself pulling pumpkin juice and essence of dittany from her beaded bag, but her movements stilled at Draco’s question.   
Draco sighed. Another secret. He just nodded his head and waved his hand at Potter, attempting to drop the subject.   
  
But Harry surprised him. “Sometimes, I am able to see things through _his_ eyes. As if I am him, or as if I am his snake. The goblins have been massacred. And Bellatrix has been punished,” he stopped, a wry smile on his face. “It was her dagger, wasn’t it?” he asked.   
  
Draco stopped, the bottle of pumpkin juice Hermione had handed him hovering in front of his face, before he returned Potter’s grin with a quick nod of his own.   
“What do you mean you can see things?” Draco asked after taking a sip of his drink.   
“I mean it’s as if I’m inside his head. He knows we have the horcrux. He’s going to go check on his hiding places,” Harry added quickly. “The last one is at Hogwarts.”  
“You’re just gonna skim over this whole mind connection thing?” Draco asked.  
“We can’t let him get to that Horcrux before we do, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco swallowed the last bit of his juice and examined his healed flesh from the essence of dittany. “How are you planning on getting into the castle?” Draco asked.  
“We’ll have to go through Hogsmeade.”  
“You’d be captured immediately,” Draco said. He caught sight of Hermione’s expression and realized he’d excluded himself in his statement. “We,” he amended, trying to catch her eye. “I still plan on helping you.”  
She smiled at him, but it looked more tired than anything.   
  
“We’ll just have to hide under my cloak,” said Harry.  
“Four of us won’t fit under that, Harry. I’m not even sure three of us would,” said Hermione.  
“It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Draco. “They village is secure. Anyone who sets foot there without a dark mark will set off an alarm.”  
  
Ron sat down roughly beside Hermione and grabbed another bottle of pumpkin juice. “Do you have an idea?” he asked, looking at Draco.   
“Not any good ones,” he answered. “Unless you know someone who lives there well enough to apparate directly into their home.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “Would a house elf be able to get us in to the castle?” she asked.  
“I don’t know,” Draco said, intrigued by her idea.  
  
“We need to destroy the Horcrux first, then we can call for Dobby and ask him,” said Harry. “Do you still have the sword, Hermione?”  
She grabbed her beaded bag and dug around it for just a moment, before murmuring _Accio_ for the Gryffindor Sword.   
“Does he know when you destroy them?” Draco asked.  
Harry looked at him. “I think he will now.”  
  
Harry took the sword from Hermione and laid the cup on the ground. Then, he looked at the three of them. “Who should destroy it?” he asked.   
The question surprised Draco. He had assumed Harry would insist on doing everything.   
  
“Draco,” said Hermione. “You and Ron have each destroyed one. I think he should have a chance.”  
“No,” Draco cut in. “This is your three’s thing. It should be Hermione.”  
“You’re one of us now,” said Harry bluntly.   
“I’m a Neville or a Luna to your trio. Here to help, but not a main ingredient.”  
  
Ron snorted. “Honestly, I think you’ve been more involved in all of this than any one else. You just needed to figure out what pie you were meant for.”

“Pie?” Draco sniggered. “Really?”  
“Well, you said ingredients.”  
  
“I agree with Draco,” said Harry. “In that it should be Hermione.”  
Draco smirked, pleased with Harry’s support. Ron just shrugged his shoulders as if indifferent and Hermione bit her lip.  
  
Harry held the sword back towards her and she slowly rose to her feet.   
“What do you think it’ll do?” she asked.  
“The diary turned into a likeness of Tom Riddle for me,” said Harry.  
“And the locket showed me what I was dreading,” said Ron. Harry looked quickly at Ron before turning back to Hermione.  
  
“The horcruxes confronted you?” Draco asked, alarmed. “Maybe, I’ve changed my mind. I can do it, Hermione.”  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and pushed her shoulders back. “Draco Malfoy, I don’t need you to babysit me. I’ve done just fine for myself long before you sorted yourself out. Honestly, if any one needs a babysitter, it’s the three of you.”  
  
She stepped forward and took the sword from Harry. The three men moved back, giving her space to strike the cup. Draco watched her as she carefully eyed the innocent looking chalice on the grassy shore. Her riotous curls were still soaked from their dive into the water and he was shocked at how long her hair truly was. She had a cut on her cheek she’d missed with the essence of dittany and the horrible robes she’d worn as his aunt were destroyed, having been burned and torn in their escape from Gringotts. She should have looked like a drowned Kneazle, but Draco found her captivating.  
  
He again felt the regret of having denied himself her friendship for so long. It had been so cruel to lash out at her because of what she was born to. He studied her, perhaps the fiercest witch he had ever known outside his mother and aunt, and he willed her his strength against this horcrux.  
  
“Here goes,” she said and raised the sword over her head.   
With a guttural yell, she brought the sword down on top of the cup. Draco was alarmed at the scream coming from the horcrux on the ground and was just about to pull Hermione back when the waters around them rose up into high waves. Hermione was still holding the sword against the cup, as if she were unable to push it all of the way down. And then he heard noises; voices on the waves.   
“No,” Hermione whimpered. “I am not horrible,” she cried out. “So, what if I know the answers! I love to learn!”  
  
“Hermione!” Ron yelled. “Don’t listen to it!”  
The waves were still in the air, refusing to fall, and Draco realized they had taken the form of people. And the voices in the water were mimicking many of the insults he had heard thrown her way over the years; many insults he, himself, had thrown at her. Hermione’s eyes were focused on the waves, her attention waning from the horcrux at her feet.   
  
“Granger!” he yelled. “Who cares if you’re bossy?” he called. “I like that about you! Obviously, these idiots do, too. And where would they be if you weren’t a know it all? Still trapped in any number of messes, no doubt!”  
She turned to him, her brown eyes clear.   
“Finish it!” he yelled. Harry and Ron repeated his command and Hermione, eyes narrowed, nodded her head and leaned all of her weight down on the sword.   
  
An ear-piercing scream filled the air, drowning out the words from the lake. The waves dropped down in a deafening crash and the water rose again in a heavy splash and soaked them all.   
  
The horcrux lay in a puddle of black goo and Hermione was panting. The three men rushed to her and embraced her, heedless of the implication that they were all together in such an intimate gesture.   
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ron was saying. “I was such an arse first year. And I always stick my foot in my mouth. I am so sorry.”  
“Me, too, Hermione. You’re my sister and I am so glad you’re in my life.”  
  
Draco smirked. “I like knowing a bookworm. Gives me someone to talk to.”  
Hermione let out a harsh laugh and smacked Draco on his arm, hard, as the group separated. The young men silently agreed to ignore what had just happened.   
  
“Thank goodness our extra clothes are still in the bag,” Hermione said over their awkwardness. “I don’t think a hot air charm could do much against these rags.”  
  
The group quickly changed clothes, the three men giving Hermione as much privacy as they could muster. Draco was able to control the temptation to peak, after a moment. He had to weigh the options, of course. And he decided it would be worth the wait for her to decide to show him what she wanted to in her own due time. But he had to smirk to himself at the glimpse he had caught. She had the most exquisite back he had ever seen.  
  
“Do you think it will be okay?” Hermione asked.  
Momentarily confused, Draco followed her line of sight to see the dragon they had escaped on was on the other side of the lake, drinking water.  
“It’s a dragon, Hermione,” said Ron. “It can take care of itself.”  
  
“We have to hurry,” Harry said. “He’s not wasting any time.”  
Draco watched as the dark-haired boy rubbed his forehead. It was incredibly disturbing that Potter had some sort of mind connection with the Dark Lord. It had to mean something, Draco was sure.   
  
“What did Dumbledore tell you about facing him?” Hermione asked, her eyes watching Harry’s hand rub his forehead. Her eyebrows were lowered in concentration and Draco knew her thoughts were in line with his own.   
  
“Just that I have to face him,” Harry said.   
Hermione opened her mouth to say more, but Harry cut her off.  
“Hermione,” he pleaded. “I’m not ready to say it out loud. I know I have to face him. That’s enough to worry about right now.”  
  
An impulse to mock Harry ignited in Draco’s head. But it was tampered down without much thought when he realized his statement wasn’t for show. Harry wasn’t bragging. Potter had accepted his fate long before Draco had understood it.  
  
“Which elf are we calling?” asked Ron.  
“Hoping for a bit of food?” Hermione teased.   
“We are headed to war. A little nourishment wouldn’t hurt.”  
  
Harry shook his head and laughed. “Dobby!” he called.   
A pop sounded as the little elf apparated before them. He quickly bowed before Harry, an eager smile on his face.   
“Harry Potter has called Dobby! How can Dobby help Harry Potter, sir?”  
  
The energetic shaking was a stark contrast to the trembling the elf had succumbed to only weeks ago. Draco mulled over the elf as he waited for Harry to ask his questions. What had Kreacher meant when he’d said that language had changed? Hermione and he were not bonded magically, but they were bonded. What did that even mean?  
  
“Dobby, can you apparate us into Hogwarts?” Harry asked.  
The house elf’s face fell immediately and he shook his head. “Oh, no, Harry Potter. Dobby cannot apparate you directly into the castle. The wards would not allow it.”  
  
“We’re sunk,” said Ron.  
“I can get you into the castle, though,” said Dobby. “Mr. Dumbledore will help!”  
  
“Dumbledore’s dead,” Draco said, unable to hide his exasperation.  
“Oh, no!” howled the elf. “Dobby did not know! What has happened to Master Aberforth?”  
  
“Aberforth?” asked Hermione.  
Dobby bobbed his head up and down. “Yes,” he said. “Mr. Dumbledore. The great Albus Dumbledore’s brother!”  
“Dumbledore had a brother?” Ron asked.   
  
“Yes,” Harry said, his voice unreadable. “And a sister.” Harry turned to Dobby. “It was his eye I saw in the mirror at the manor, wasn’t it? He was the one who sent you to help us.”  
“Yes, Harry Potter, sir! And Dobby did help!”  
“Yes, you did,” said Harry. “And you can help us again, it sounds like. How?”  
  
“Mr. Dumbledore runs the Hogs Head. He has a tunnel to the castle.”  
Harry smiled widely and looked at the rest of them. “Looks like we’re in.”  
  
“Dobby,” Draco asked. “Can you check first? The Death Eaters might have been warned to expect us. Their guard protocols could have changed.”  
The elf bobbed his head and was gone in an instant.  
  
Draco looked at Ron and swallowed his pride. “Thank you for pulling me out of the water,” he said to the red-haired man.  
Ron puffed out his chest and smiled. But the grin quickly faded. “Yeah, well now I don’t owe you anything. We’re even for your having saved my brother.”  
  
Hermione put the sword back in her bag when the elf returned in another loud pop.   
“Dobby will take you now!” Dobby said excitedly.   
Draco had barely a moment to grab hold of Hermione before the elf disapparated them all away.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Bellatrix couldn’t help but release a pained laugh as she felt the burning ache radiating from her ruined eye. She spun in a circle as she made her trek up to the ground level, trying to distract herself from the agony. The numbing spell she had cast hadn’t been able to completely rid her of the excruciating hurt. Her dolt nephew had surprised her. Consorting with filth was nothing compared to his standing up to her. It was nothing compared to his ability to somehow leave the Dark Lord convinced of his death. How many of the Death Eaters would hunt him down if only for the knowledge of how to counteract the dark mark? How many of her own recruits would flee if they found a way out? Draco had developed a back bone and she longed to rip it out and break it in front of his eyes.   
  
Or break the mudblood. How she would love to exterminate the pest in front of her nephew so he could watch its blood drain from its body. Bellatrix had only sacrificed muggles and wizards to the Oak. Never squibs or half breeds. Perhaps the tree would accept Draco’s mudblood as an offering; there was no doubt the revolting girl had stolen a surprising amount of magical strength. How dare he choose that creature over his own family. No matter his doubts for what they stood for, his disloyalty of his family was unforgivable.   
  
The ungrateful shit. Guarding the mudblood; shielding it from her. Bellatrix jerked at the memory of the dagger sailing towards her. She’d had no time to adjust or block it. One moment it was in the mudblood’s hand and the next moment her head had exploded in pain.  
  
Bellatrix scratched at the Dark Mark on her arm as she considered the mudblood’s change of appearance. It meant something that Draco’s hair was white. Just as it meant something that both Lucius’ and Cissy’s hair had changed after he was born. Why was her nephew immune to her spell? He should have been born her slave. If she murdered Draco, would she have more control over his parents? What happened at the manor? What had they done? Lucius would never have aided the mudblood, but Draco would have. She hadn’t needed to read his mind to know that he was terrified for the girl while she tortured her. Perhaps the creature was immune to her commands even though she was somehow connected to the Malfoys because she wasn’t a real witch?  
  
The pain in her forearm was miniscule compared to her injury. The Dark Lord was coming. She would not allow him to kill her. She would not allow him to doubt her. She would not die before exacting her revenge.  
  
A loud explosion sounded down the passageway, followed by hundreds of screaming goblins. It would seem that he was already here. Bellatrix took in a deep breath and closed her good eye, meditating on the Oak Tree in her mind. Her failures were only to the Dark Lord’s deviations from the war; she had not failed her true calling.  
  
She bit her tongue and focused on the blood in her mouth as she slowly made her way towards the lobby. Each step was laborious. The dagger was still in her eye; she’d been unable to magic it out without taking her eye with it and she still had some small hope that her eye could be salvaged.  
  
She focused on her rage. Her nephew had betrayed her. The mudblood had outwitted her. The pathetic girl had struck her down and escaped again! How dare the filthy thing humiliate her!  
  
The dragons in the passageways were uneasy, pulling at their restraints and anxious to join the other that had destroyed this place on its way out. Another involuntary smile broke on her face and she swallowed a cackle. It was going to be so much fun when she finally got her revenge on them.   
  
A goblin head came rolling down the incline as she made her way up. She knew she was feeling delirious, but decided not to care. Her most recent sacrifice to the giant Oak was likely what had kept the dagger from penetrating her brain. She would hold out faith it would keep her safe from the Dark Lord. She was, after all, his most loyal and worthy servant.   
  
The lobby entrance was just ahead and she holstered her wand and grabbed the necklace around her throat. The loudest screams were that of the Dark Lord; he was mad with rage. Whatever he’d kept in her vault was irreplaceable.   
  
“You!” he sneered, his voice menacing as she fell to her knees before him and bowed her head low to the ground while still grasping the cord around her neck. “Potter has evaded you again! And your nephew, I’m told, lives!” He threw a curse at her and she grit her teeth against the pain. “You are too stupid to know what you’ve done!” His voice was a roar and she felt excitement and fear at what he would do next. “You have proven yourself to be useless!” He stepped away from her, as if she were filth.   
  
The _Crucio_ that followed was short lived, ended abruptly by his laughter. He strode forward again and looked down at her, pulling her chin up so he could see her face. “You look ridiculous,” he laughed, an unsettling expression of rapture on his face. “It appears your pathetic nephew has once again delivered a satisfactory punishment!”  
  
Bellatrix bit her lip as he reached forward and pulled the dagger from her eye socket. He was not delicate, but twisted it from her skull. Her vision was blurred from her tears, the only sound she heard were her own screams. And his laughter.   
  
He roughly pushed her back down to the ground and she felt the pulsating pressure of his presence in her head. His laughter faded quickly.   
“You were bested by the mudblood again?” His voice was monotone.   
  
“My master,” Bellatrix began.  
But Voldemort had no interest in her excuses. “Do you see this dagger?” he asked.   
  
She looked and her rage intensified. It was hers. Her devastated oculus was attached to the tip; pierced by her own dark spells. With horror, she watched as her Lord pulled the damaged organ from the blade and squeezed it in his hand. Tissue and liquid dripped from his fist and he sneered down at her.  
  
He leaned forward and wiped his hand on her robes. “There will be no silver eye, I fear,” he said. The sarcasm was clear. “Nagini,” he called. Bellatrix watched in fury as the snake slithered towards the Dark Lord, its belly swollen; from countless goblins she was sure. He stroked the snake and turned back to Bellatrix.   
“Gather the Death Eaters. The Wizarding World is mine tonight.”  
He spun away from her, casting curses with his wand, and apparating away with the snake.   
  
And Bellatrix, all alone in the death and destruction, screamed. 


	30. What Fades Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay. 
> 
> TW: topics of possible child neglect, child death, mention of torture and abuse, despondency

Recently, on the M60 motorway near Stockport, there were numerous reports of a wailing wind and a flashing, foreign object, almost like a silver hand, floating in the sky. And further north, at the Dale Head Garage in Hawes, two men who worked at the nearby creamery insisted to one of the prominent members of the newly formed Community Partnership that they had seen an unnatural figure of a man floating over the town. But it was two golfers searching for a lost ball on West Sands Beach who knew for certain that they had seen a ghost.   
  
You see, when the Veil had closed before his eyes, Peter Pettigrew had been left with no choice but to determine where else to go. After several failed attempts to reanimate his body, he accepted what he already knew. He was a ghost. And he decided that he was glad of it. He would rather be a ghost than meeting whatever fate awaited him on the other side of the Veil. Because, even as he had stretched his horrible metal arm towards the closing curtain, he second guessed his decision to see what the Veil would offer. He let his arm fall and the opportunity fade.   
  
He felt no pain in the arm. He felt nothing. He was a ghost. He was free to do as he pleased with whomever and to whomever he chose. In death, he was his own master. And in death he could haunt Bellatrix Lestrange. So, he took his time, exploring the muggle world he had been too afraid to visit when he was alive. And he found that he was incredibly brave in his new form, knowing that he couldn’t die again.   
  
So, with this newfound bravery Peter decided to stop on his way to his intended destination and amuse himself by frightening the piss out of two muggles on the beach by The Old Course at St Andrews. Peter had learned a great deal about being a ghost on his journey from Malfoy Manor, and he decided it would be fun to demonstrate Wizard’s Golf to the two tourists. Unfortunately, having no way to enchant the link, balls or clubs, Peter had to settle for a little tomfoolery instead.   
  
He was still reeling from the experience of his little side activity. He had broken some rules, he realized. Rules he hadn’t even been aware that he had known until the muggles were screaming their arses off. Peter had just wanted to pull on the lines of light that jutted off of the living; he had just wanted to see if he could move the muggles around like marionettes. But he should never have fallen victim to his over confidence that he was invincible by ignoring the instinct to leave well enough alone. Because as soon as his silver hand had touched the brightest line coming out of the fattest muggle, he knew that he had made a grave error.   
  
Peter left the screaming men alone on the sands, cursing them for getting in his way. He no longer wanted to be alone and he urgently resumed his travel to Hogwarts. And he tried desperately to ignore how less visible his ghostly form had become even to his own eyes when he had ignored the rules he had inherently known since refusing to cross the Veil.

* * *

“I told you not to bring them here!” roared a man’s voice as soon as Dobby apparated to the second floor of the Hog’s Head Inn with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco.   
“And Dobby told you that Harry Potter said to bring them here,” replied Dobby. His voice was bright and happy and a striking contrast to the man’s angry shout.   
  
“Mr. Dumbledore, Sir,” Harry interrupted when Aberforth Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at the elf, “thank you for sending Dobby to our rescue when we’d been captured. I don’t think we would have been able to escape without the help.”  
Aberforth turned his glare to Harry. “You’re welcome. Now let the little elf use his magic to get you out of here,” replied Aberforth. He was of an unidentifiable build, wearing robes that were ill-fitting and too big. His beard was long and the hair on his head was grey and wiry. But it was his eyes that gave away his heritage; they were a brilliant blue and bore the light of an intelligent mind.   
  
“How did you do it?” Harry asked, ignoring Aberforth’s unwelcoming demeanor. “I mean, how did you get the other mirror?”  
  
Draco looked over to Hermione, unsure what it was that Harry was talking about. The curly haired witch moved closer to Draco, resting against his body as she looked towards the mantel across the room and nodded her head. A mirror was there, next to a rather large painting, and had caught Harry’s attention. For a brief moment, Draco saw the reflection of Harry’s face in it even though the angle was wrong. Confused, Draco noticed that Harry was holding a broken shard from another mirror. Somehow, the mirrors were connected and the mirror on the mantel was showing what should have been the image from the glass in Potter’s hand.   
  
Aberforth let out a sigh and shook his head at Harry. “I got it off Mundungus after Sirius died. Albus told me what it really was and I figured I’d keep a look out in case I could ever help.”  
  
“Of, course!” shouted Ron.  
“Of, course, what, Ron?” Hermione asked as the others in the room stared at him.   
Looking at Aberforth, Ron answered. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one that led Harry to the sword with your Patronus.”  
  
“I don’t reckon it was,” said Alberforth.  
“Who else would it have been, if it wasn’t you?” Ron asked.   
“Dunno.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Draco asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Both he and Aberforth continued to stare at Ron.  
But it was Harry who answered. “A doe Patronus led me to the sword.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened before he put up his usual guarded expression.   
“Does that mean something to you?” Harry asked, obviously keen for an answer to this particular mystery.  
Draco watched as Harry returned the piece of mirror to the pouch he carried. “It does,” Draco said, finally. “I don’t think you’ll like it, though.”  
  
A loud rumble from Ron’s stomach distracted Harry and Draco from their uncomfortable exchange. Ron grimaced as he looked at the group and shrugged his shoulders.   
“Sorry,” Ron mumbled. “I’m just really hungry.”  
  
“Dobby will find some food!” exclaimed the little elf. Dobby looked to Aberforth, as if asking permission, and with another sigh Aberforth left the room, motioning for Dobby to follow him as he went. The elf practically ran in his excitement to get them something to eat.   
  
Harry looked at Draco critically. “What does a Patronus of a doe mean to you?” he asked Draco.   
Draco squeezed the small hand in his own and willed Hermione to help him keep Harry calm. Hermione looked at Draco, her expression encouraging, as she waited for his reply.   
  
“I know someone whose Patronus is a doe,” he said slowly. “Someone whom I know to be committed to helping you.”  
“Who?” Harry snapped.  
“I can’t tell you. I made a promise with this person; I can’t discuss this with anyone but my family.”  
“Then tell Hermione,” mumbled Ron, rubbing his stomach. “She’s a ward and all.”  
  
Hermione was shaking her head, however. “I don’t think that’s how being a ward works, Ron. And just how many oaths and promises are you under, Draco?” she said. Her voice was vexed and she had removed her hand from his, but her irritation stemmed from her frustration in the lack of answers. “You can’t speak of the curse on your family,” she continued, staring hard at Draco, “that is somehow affecting me now in addition to a mysterious non-magical, but still powerful, bond. Is this new secret somehow connected to that, too?”   
  
“Not really,” Draco said.   
He reached out to Hermione and was genuinely relieved when she took his hand again. She waited expectantly as he tried to find the words to explain this promise with Severus to her and the other two boys.   
“I made a promise to my godfather. It is his responsibility to protect both Potter and me. He protects me because of the oath to my family when he became my godfather and to Harry because –”   
Draco’s words were cut off. The magic of his promise forced his tongue to stick to his teeth and prevent him from talking.   
  
Ron shook his head at him. “Come on, Malfoy. That isn’t even a difficult promise to get out of. It’s just a tongue locking spell. Fred and George put those on me all the time. Ginny actually figured out how to perform the countercharm.”  
  
Ron raised his wand, ready to cast said charm, but Draco backed away from him.   
“Well, I happen to respect the promise I have made!” Draco exclaimed. “If the Dark Lord were to discover him, it would ruin everything. He only offered me the information when he knew my Occlumency could stand up to the Dark Lord.”  
  
But Harry stared at Draco, his mouth agape and, shaking his head, he stepped back. “I don’t believe it,” Harry said. “He hates me!”  
“Who?” asked Ron.  
Draco’s shoulders tensed when he realized Harry had put the pieces together. “He hated your father, Potter. And with good reason.”   
  
Harry lunged in front of Draco, holding the blonde man’s former wand in his face. “How dare you say that about my father!” Harry shouted.   
Draco pulled out his own wand, unwilling to yield to his rival. “I said nothing about your father. I only said that my godfather had good reason to hate him. My godfather, Harry. Not me. I have no opinion of your father.”  
  
“Who is your godfather?” Ron asked, exasperated. He seemed unperturbed by the two men’ stance, as if confident it was all for show.   
“Professor Snape,” Hermione said softly. Her voice was tired and she seemed resigned to the answer she gave. “He’s been protecting all of us all along,” she added.   
“That’s rough,” Ron said.  
  
But Harry would not acquiesce to the idea that the man whom he hated was helping him. “It’s his fault they’re dead! Does he think protecting me will make it better? He’s a Death Eater,” Harry snarled, his wand still aimed at Draco.  
  
“So am I,” Draco said with a heavy sigh. “I took the mark. I promised loyalty and servitude to the Dark Lord. If not for Luna, I would still bear the mark.” Draco’s voice was strained. It was evident that he was holding back strong emotion as he lowered his wand to clutch the place where the mark had been. He stared coldly at Harry, as if daring him to curse him.   
Hermione moved next to Draco again, her hand over his, keeping his wand arm down, and Draco looked down at her before she turned to Harry. Her face was reassuring, and Harry’s crumpled briefly when he met her gaze.   
  
Lowering his own wand, Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his hands across the closed lids and backing away from Draco again.   
“I thought you couldn’t discuss this,” Harry bit out, turning his back to the rest of them.   
  
Ron loudly pulled out a chair at the table in the room and settled into the seat. “Yeah, well, you guessed, Harry. If he only promised not to tell, he didn’t really break it” the red head said.   
  
Harry turned and glared at Ron, but the angry look faded at the shockingly noisy rumble coming from his friend’s stomach. Harry struggled not to grin, but failed when the sound of Hermione’s stomach loudly followed. Draco bit back a smirk and soon the tension shattered and they were all laughing at their rumbling bellies.   
  
“We weren’t gone that long,” said Aberforth as he returned to the room carrying a tray of bread and cheese. Following just behind him was Dobby, who carried a jug of mead as large as he was.   
“Hurry up and eat so you can be on your way,” said Aberforth, gruffly.   
  
They all sat at the table in the room and ate quickly; the pumpkin juice Hermione had provided after their dragon ride was just a long-ago memory. Hermione tentatively asked for water as she eyed the mead with distaste and both she and Harry had obstinately refused to partake in the fermented drink. Aberforth rolled his eyes and sent Dobby after a “kiddie drink” of butterbeer, insisting they needed their energy while Ron was busy filling his stomach. But, Draco eyed the other two with suspicion.  
  
“You can’t stay here,” Aberforth said to them, distracting Draco from his thoughts. “The Death Eaters are expecting you. They’ve got all sorts of security outside. You’ll have to have Dobby take you somewhere else.”  
  
“Dobby told Harry Potter about the tunnel,” said the house elf. “Harry Potter and his friends be needing inside the castle,” he said.   
“They be needing to be anywhere but here,” said Aberforth.  
  
Harry swallowed his food hurriedly and looked to the innkeeper. “This is important, Aberforth. We have to get inside Hogwarts!”   
“Going inside the castle is a stupid move.”  
“We’re running out of time. We have to get there tonight. Dumbledore – your brother, I mean, -- left it up to us –”   
  
Aberforth loudly placed his tankard of mead on the table, the honey liquid splattering at the top.   
“My brother was full of crafty plans and ideas, wasn’t he?” Aberforth asked, his voice strained. “He would line up his allies like pawns and allow a tear or two to fall if someone was hurt along the way. In his mind, it was what was ahead that mattered. You need to forget him, boy. All of you need to forget him and get as far away from here as you can. His shell is decaying in his tomb; he’s on to the next thing and you need to let him go.”  
  
“Please, let me explain,” said Harry.  
“You think you can explain my brother to me? As if I haven’t known him all my life?”  
“I meant let me explain what he asked us to do,” rushed Harry.  
  
Aberforth laughed, the sound cruel, and Dobby busied himself moving the jug of mead out of his reach.   
“Oh, this will be good, I’m sure,” said Aberforth. “What sort of madness did he set you out on? Something straightforward, of course. With all of the tools and resources you would need to do it easily?”  
  
Draco coughed noisily while Ron let out a nervous laugh. Hermione bit her lip.   
Aberforth turned to Draco. “Your presence here is interesting,” he said. “I wouldn’t have expected Lucius’s son to turn up with this lot.”  
  
Draco sat up straighter and welcomed the weight of Hermione’s hand on his thigh. The movement caught Aberforth’s attention.   
“For all that matters, this war is over,” the older man mused. “Have you claimed your muggle born?” he asked Draco. “I’ve been told that is in the near future. That the Death Eaters will claim their spouses for building up a new, purer race of wizards. But I was under the impression that a witch such as this would not be welcomed in the new world order.”  
  
Draco quickly placed his hand over Hermione’s. “The war is not over. And she will always be welcomed in the world I fight for.”  
  
Aberforth grabbed his tankard and downed a large gulp of his mead before glaring at the jug across the table. “You’re all doomed. He wants Harry too badly. And when the prized pureblood son is revealed to be in love with the Chosen One’s muggle born friend, there’ll be no stopping his hunt for you.”   
Draco squirmed in his seat, but didn’t release Hermione’s hand. He looked at her and returned her encouraging, though shy, smile.   
Aberforth turned to Dobby. “You have to hide them, Dobby. Get them as far away from here as you can.”  
  
“No!” Harry said. “I have a job to do.”  
“Let someone else do it,” Aberforth spat.   
“It has to be me. Your brother explained everything,” Harry said, but his voice had become hesitant.   
  
“Did he really? Because I highly doubt that he did. He held on to his secrets as if they were the air that he breathed. That’s how we were raised, you see. And my brother Albus became a master manipulator.”  
  
Aberforth was no longer looking at Harry, his attention on the large painting on the wall above the mantel. It was of a rather pleasant looking girl whose painted face surveyed the room with a look of interest.   
  
“She has your and Professor Dumbledore’s eyes,” said Draco.   
Aberforth smiled. “She is our sister, Ariana.”   
Aberforth eyed Hermione who had shifted in her seat. She avoided looking at him and he smirked. “You can read all about my sister in Rita Skeeter’s book. Unless, you already did?” Aberforth said, his tone mocking.   
“Elphias Doge told us about her over the summer,” said Harry quickly. It wasn’t Hermione’s fault she knew so much about Skeeter’s book. It was Harry who had become obsessed with it in his search for answers.   
Aberforth burped softly and rubbed his chest. “Doge, yes. One of my brother’s numerous fans. As it seems all of you are, too.”  
  
Draco again let out a loud cough and Aberforth grinned. “Or, perhaps not,” he amended almost cheerfully.   
Hermione leaned forward in her seat and caught the older man’s attention. “Your brother cared about Harry,” she said earnestly.   
“I wouldn’t call that any blessing,” said Aberforth. “Most of the people he cared about might as well have set up camp on quick sand.”  
  
Hermione sucked in air and shook her head. “That is an awful thing to say,” she murmured. But her eyes landed on the painting. “You’re talking about your sister and him.” Her voice was confident, answering a question that hadn’t been voiced.   
  
“Ariana was just six years old when she was attacked by Muggle boys in the village,” he began, unaware of the startled sound Hermione made.   
“They must have seen her doing magic,” he continued, “because they kept asking her to do the trick again. But she was just a little girl and she couldn’t control it! What young child can? They called her a freak because they couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she was.”   
  
Aberforth, agitated, rose from his seat. The firelight in the hearth sent shadows across his face and he seemed larger than the room.   
“Their ruthlessness broke her. She was afraid of her own magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it. She would try to stamp it down and would inevitably lose control. My sweet, scared, harmless little sister lost all control of her magic. My father went after the boys, but he could never tell the Ministry why or they would have locked Ariana up; she would have been too dangerous in their eyes. Instead, my father was locked away in Azkaban.”  
  
Aberforth approached the jug and refilled his cup, unaware that Dobby had switched the liquid with water.   
“I was her favorite. I understood her. I was patient with her and not invested in my own interests over her. But Albus was too important to be tied to her condition and he went to go see the world. And when she was fourteen – Ariana had an outburst and our mother was killed in the eruption of pent-up magic. It was an accident. She would never have done it on purpose!”  
  
He slumped back in his seat and drank from his cup. Seeming dissatisfied with the taste, he cast the tankard aside and spat into the fire.   
“Albus was inconvenienced by her death. He’d had a trip round the world planned with that sap Doge, but he had to come home for the funeral and Doge left without him after that. Albus insisted I finish school. I should never have listened to him, of course. He was too self-absorbed to be able to take care of her. He was going stir crazy watching her and losing his opportunity to show off to the wizarding world. And then Grindelwald moved in. A smart, good looking wizard to take his attention away from his sister. What did it matter if Ariana was a little overlooked? He and Grindelwald were working for the greater good, after all.”  
Aberforth stared at the painting, lost in his thoughts.  
  
Hermione shifted in her seat, her posture rigid. Harry had clasped her hand from across the table and seemed to be trying to reassure her while Ron had bowed his head. Draco stared at their interaction, realizing that something about this story had triggered his witch.  
  
“The Death Eaters murdered my cousin,” Hermione said calmly to Aberforth.   
  
Draco sucked in air beside her and placed his hand on her knee in an attempt to offer his support.   
Hermione hummed in gratitude before she placed her free hand over his and leaned into him. “I loved her so much. Iris was a just a few years older than me and my best friend. When they came for her, she was only six years old. Her death destroyed my uncle; my parents thought he was crazy when he’d told them what happened. I haven’t seen him since her funeral. It has bothered me how the Death Eaters knew she was a witch.”  
  
This was the first Draco had learned of another magical member in her family. She’d captured Aberforth’s attention, too.   
“She probably fell victim to the same mistake as Ariana. Accidently showing her magic to someone she shouldn’t have,” said Aberforth, his voice hard.  
Hermione nodded, the truth of his words in line with her own assumptions. “What happened to your sister, Mr. Dumbledore?”   
  
Aberforth looked at Hermione, his eyes boring into hers. He looked broken, the memories attacking his composure.  
“I confronted him. I told him to stop obsessing about his clever ideas and to take care of his sister. To protect her! But Grindelwald would have none of that. He acted like what he and my brother were doing was for her sake. That they were going to make the whole world bow down and accept her and all of us. That the muggles would be put in their place.”  
  
He rose from his seat again, and stood in front of his sister’s portrait. “We argued. I pulled out my wand and he – Grindelwald – pulled out his. And he had me under the _Cruciatus Curse_. Albus tried to stop him; I won’t deny that. And the lights and loud bangs from the three of us fighting must have been too much for her. I think she tried to help; that’s something she would have done. But she couldn’t protect herself. She’d never learned how to use her magic. And –” his voice broke and he swallowed a sob. “I don’t know who did it. We were all out of control. But she was dead.”  
  
Shock enveloped them like the air after a storm and they all stared at the lovely girl portrayed in the portrait on the wall.  
“I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispered. Her face was pale and she gripped Draco’s hand tightly.   
Draco and Ron both looked sick. And a look of sorrow had settled on Harry’s face.   
  
Aberforth wiped his nose and face with his sleeve and mumbled to himself before turning back to them. “Grindelwald ran away. He had a history, you see, and couldn’t add another accident to his record. And my brother was finally free. Free to do what he’d always wanted to do. Free to show off as the –”  
  
“He was never free,” interrupted Harry.   
“Excuse me?”  
“Never,” said Harry. “I was with him the night he died. He protected me and he drank a poison that drove him out of his mind. He kept screaming and begging to something I couldn’t see; a memory, I think. ‘Don’t hurt them, please… hurt me instead.’”  
  
All in the room were staring at Harry. He’d never told any of them about the details of the cave. Dobby moved next to the young man, awkwardly hugging Harry’s side and resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. But Harry didn’t seem to notice.   
“I never understood what he was seeing until now,” Harry said. “He was back there in that moment when you were fighting and Grindelwald was hurting both you and Ariana. It tortured him. If you had seen him like that, you would know that he’d never been free.”  
  
They sat silently as Aberforth regarded Harry. “How do you know it wasn’t all just for the greater good and you’re not just another pawn?” he asked Harry.   
  
Harry opened his mouth, ready to answer, but Draco beat him to it.   
“I know because he saw himself in me,” Draco said. His voice startled everyone, his input in the conversation unexpected.   
Aberforth seemed to consider Draco. He eyed the younger man for a long time before nodding his head, the movement indecipherable. Perhaps, he was agreeing. Perhaps, he was just letting the topic go.   
  
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, “How did he see himself in you?”   
Draco was still looking at Aberforth when he answered. “I made all the wrong decisions because I thought I was protecting my family. And it would have been impossible to convince me otherwise, because I was convinced there was only one way to keep my family safe.”  
  
“What do you mean, Draco?” Hermione asked Harry’s question again.   
Draco rolled his shoulders, releasing an invisible tension. “I became a Death Eater because I wanted my father out of Azkaban and the Death Eaters away from my mother and I truly believed that was the only way I could accomplish those things. I have been so mad at Dumbledore for knowing the mess that I was in and not saving me. But I think he knew that if he’d tried, I would have made things worse. He knew, because that’s what happened to him. Aberforth tried to make him see how he’d been distracted by the wrong solution, but Professor Dumbledore felt he knew better and because of that his sister died. Professor Dumbledore had only been a little older than me when he’d got himself mixed up in something he didn’t know how to get out of. So, when he realized that I had done the same thing, he went about protecting me in the only way he thought he could. He tried to sabotage my efforts by using Severus, a man whom he believed I trusted and admired and who seemed to be on the same side as me in every way.”  
  
“Except he didn’t give you enough credit,” said Harry.   
“Yeah,” Draco laughed derisively, “He never considered a paired Vanishing Cabinet.”  
“No,” said Harry. “He never considered you were brave enough to realize you’d had another option and go against You-Know-Who to help us. Neither did I.”  
  
Dobby set about cleaning the table and feeding the fire as the group digested all that they’d heard. And when Dobby settled into his own seat, Aberforth leaned forward in his.   
“Do you understand how this will likely go? Do you understand why I am begging you to run?” Aberforth asked Harry.   
Harry stared at him. “I have known how this might end for years.”  
  
Scowling, Aberforth turned from the group and looked at his sister’s face on the wall. He nodded at her smiling image. “You know what to do,” he said to her.   
  
The young girl in the painting turned around in the frame and started walking deeper into the painting, as if following a dark, uphill corridor. The young people in the room had never seen a portrait move in such a way before. Ariana continued along the path until she was swallowed by the darkness.   
  
“What just happened?” Ron asked.   
“Mistress Ariana is getting someone from the other side to escort Harry Potter and his friends!” said Dobby happily.  
“Other side?” asked Ron.  
  
No one answered his question, however, because Ariana was returning. But two people holding hands were walking with her. A man, much taller than she, and a red-haired woman about her height.   
  
Their trek down the corridor to the inn took much longer than Ariana’s trip to the castle had, but Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley walked with her towards the frame on the mantel until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait. Ginny was jumping up and down to get a better look at them from her position behind the other two. It was shocking for the four classmates to see their friends inside the portrait. Neville and Ginny looked worse for the wear, their skin covered in scratches and bruises. Neville hadn’t looked so ragged a few days ago and it was hard not to fear that their portrayals in the magical portrait meant that they were no longer living.   
  
But the three inside the portrait were smiling wide and suddenly the portrait swung forward like a little door over the mantle. Neville clambered out and turned to lift Ginny down before facing Harry and the rest.   
  
“Thank Merlin you’re all here!” Neville said, his smile a look of relief.   
Ginny nodded her head rapidly beside him before, seeming too happy to stay where she was anymore, she hurried forward and hugged her brother fiercely. The two siblings rocked back and forth for a moment, genuinely happy to see the other alive, if not well. Ginny then hugged Harry and Draco before hugging Hermione a littler longer and stepping back to look at her intently.   
  
The girls seemed to speak an entire conversation with only their expressions as they each looked at the boy the other was standing with and smiled approvingly to each other. Hermione had shrugged her shoulders and bit her lip when she looked at Draco, as if unsure. And Ginny had just winked encouragingly and looped her arm with Neville’s, confident in the gesture. The small moment the two young women shared was a reprieve from the danger looming around them. But Harry and Ron were too distracted by the tunnel behind the open door to really notice how close Ginny and Neville were, and the two girls hid their laughter.   
  
“What happened to you?” Draco asked, his focus solely on Neville and Ginny’s injuries. “What’s going on? Have they discovered how to get into the Hidden Room?”  
“No, your charms worked,” said Neville.  
“And we’re fine. But a lot of the others aren’t,” Ginny said, “since we’ve been battling both the Carrows and the Squadron.”   
“We should really get going,” said Neville, “before Luna gets back.”  
  
Something was off in his tone and Ginny’s expression set of additional alarms with the others.   
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked sharply. “Is she okay?”  
“Let’s get going and we can talk about it on the way,” said Neville. “Oh, and Aberforth, a few more will be on their way shortly. They’ll be Apparating directly into the bar.”  
  
Neville lifted Ginny back into the portrait and followed her. He turned to help Hermione up, but Draco was already lifting her while Harry murmured his thanks to Aberforth for the help and asked Dobby to stay and help him with whomever else arrived.   
  
“I don’t remember seeing this passage on the Marauder’s Map,” said Ron, “Aren’t there just seven passages?”  
“Oh, there’s plenty more than that,” said Neville. “But most of them have been sealed off. They’re guarded by Death Eaters and dementors, but fortunately both Luna and Professor McGonagall have shown us a few more.”   
Harry pulled out the map and opened it. As Ginny pointed out areas on the map, new passages appeared.   
“We still had the one under the hump-backed witch for the first term, but Theo and Daphne gave it away when Pansy was in trouble. Fortunately, they suspected they had so we weren’t surprised that we’d lost it.” said Ginny. She didn’t seem bothered by the statement, but Ron looked surprised.   
  
“How’d those two know about it?” he asked.  
Ginny looked at Ron before she started the group forward again. “The passage? Well, I told them about it when they wanted to go see if they could find out if the Malfoys died in the manor.” The younger girl turned suddenly and held her wand in front of Draco. “I should hex you for leaving Theo so worried. We were all worried.”  
  
Draco raised his free hand in defense, but Neville was more interested in another matter. “Is it true you robbed Gringotts?” he asked. “Did you really escape on a dragon?”  
  
“News travels fast,” Draco murmured and Hermione laughed beside him. Their hands, like Neville and Ginny’s were clasped together.   
“Some things will never change,” she replied.   
“Thank Merlin some things do,” Draco said.   
  
But his words were followed by Ron’s loud groan while he waved his hands uncomfortably and motioned to their joined hands. “Will you two shut it? I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of Malfoy not being the ferret.”  
  
“Draco?” Neville interrupted before Draco could react, “What have you told them about what’s going on here?”  
  
Harry looked at Neville and then back at Draco who was glaring at Ron. “He’s only said that there are things in motion here that he needed to get back to. But Luna wanted him with us.”  
“He also said that Bellatrix is recruiting Death Eaters here,” said Hermione.   
Ron nodded just as they approached a door at the end of the tunnel, purposely ignoring Draco. “And that you’re friends with Slytherins,” he said.   
  
“But why do both of you look like this? You looked fine just a few days ago, Neville?” Hermione asked.  
“And how did things go with your mother?” added Draco, ignoring Ron for more pressing matters.   
  
Neville frowned and laughed bitterly. “I didn’t really have much time with my mum. And the time I did have wasn’t very helpful. I think it just left me more confused.” He turned to Hermione. “As far as why we look like this, we had a rough night. We’ve been causing trouble for the Carrows and the Inquisitorial Squad for some time, really, but last night was the worst.”  
  
“Wait,” said Harry, “you mean to say that Umbridge is back?” Harry stared at the map again.   
  
Ginny let out a spiteful laugh. “Oh, yes. But she wasn’t in charge of the new squad. Bellatrix is the new Inquisitor, not that she really does anything. She just put the Patil twins in charge and let them terrorize the students where the Carrows couldn’t.”   
“I don’t see what’ so funny about that.” Hermione said.   
Ginny turned to her, her face disturbingly mirthful. “Bellatrix cut out Umbridge’s tongue with a hex. That fat toad can’t say a word anymore. She just grovels for the Carrows and is Filch’s lacky.”  
  
Hermione frowned but her companions smirked.  
“Filch is like her boss? Oh, that’s hilarious,” said Ron.   
“Things have escalated, then?” asked Draco, relaxing his smirk and trying to get back on topic.  
  
Ginny sobered, her expression suddenly solemn. “Unfortunately, yes. I skipped out on going home over Easter Break, because I was sure mum wouldn’t let me come back. Something Luna had said, actually. Good thing, really, as I was able to convince the DA to let the Slytherins into the Room of Requirement. Having them on board has helped a lot of us from getting hurt. They even stopped the Carrows while they were torturing Michael Corner after he released a first year they’d chained up. ”  
  
“Yeah, and the ghosts,” said Neville. “Luna told us to make friends with the ghosts. Myrtle will be glad to see you Draco.”  
Draco smiled and Harry looked confused.  
“But we can’t keep going as we’ve been. Lavender Brown is dead,” Ginny said bluntly. “She was murdered last night.”  
“The Patil twins and Astoria have been out to get the Slytherins who wouldn’t join them; Theo and Daphne in particular, as well as Pansy. Blaise distracted Theo while some of the Squad took Pansy. Padma, Parvati and Astoria Greengrass took Daphne at the same time,” Neville said.   
  
Ron had fallen back against the wall of the tunnel at the news of Lavender’s death. His color had paled and he looked like he was in a daze. Harry squared his shoulders, posture rigid, and Draco awkwardly pat Ron on the arm.  
After a moment, however, Hermione stood up straighter. “Astoria took her own sister? I don’t believe that!” she exclaimed.  
  
“Believe it,” Ginny bit out. “She was the one who tortured her. Neville and Theo took a team to save Daphne, but they were up against some crazy magic. Hagrid was able to save Theo and Daphne, but Hannah Abbott was really hurt.”  
  
“What happened to her?” asked Ron. His face was ashen.   
Neville stopped and leaned against the opposite tunnel wall at the foot of a short stairway leading to a door. He shook his head. “Snape tried to help her. And he has, but it just isn’t an encouraging solution.”  
“What did he do to her?” Harry asked, suspicion in his words.  
  
“Whatever hex the twins or Astoria threw at her, caused her to lose her hands. It’s as if she never had any.”  
“So how did Professor Snape help her?” Hermione asked.  
“I think he took a page from You-Know-Who. She has two silver hands now.”  
  
The image of Hannah Abbot with arms like the one Wormtail had been given by Voldemort didn’t sit well with any of them.   
“What about Theo?” asked Draco. “And Pansy and Daphne?”  
Ginny cleared her throat. “They are all physically okay now, Draco. Daphne is coming to terms with the fact her sister tried to murder her. And Pansy is going to need a lot of time to get better emotionally.”  
“What happened?” Draco asked. His voice was quiet, betraying his fear of what she would tell him.  
  
“They had Pansy in the dungeons by an old castle well; they must have uncovered it. When we got there, they had Pansy strung up by her ankles and they kept dunking her in the well. Nearly Headless Nick told us later that there is a… presence… in that well. Some kind of ghost of Slytherin’s first monster. Snape and the Carrows arrived and stopped the attack, but Crabbe fell in the well and died instantly,” Ginny stopped and seemed to consider her words.   
Hermione took Draco’s hand painfully at the news of his friends’ fates, her grip turning his fingers white. But he seemed unaware of the pain, too consumed in his thoughts, and turned her into a hug, clutching her tightly.   
  
“If Pansy wants you to know more about what happened, then that will be up to her,” Ginny said finally.  
Draco had buried his face in Hermione’s neck. “I should have come back here right away,” he said to her. “You didn’t need me there at all. I was of no help getting that cup.”  
  
Harry, shoulders still rigid, shook his head. “I trust Luna that you had to be there, Draco. Maybe we would have died without you. Or failed to get the horcrux. If you’d been here, they might have taken you, too, and then maybe more people would have been hurt. Or died.”  
  
The group stood awkwardly at the stairs beneath the door at the end of the rising, curving tunnel for several minutes, each lost in their own tortured thoughts. The moment of reflection was broken, however, when Draco slowly pulled from Hermione’s embrace and kissed the top of her head.   
Shuffling loudly, Ron turned away from the pair and finally noticed Ginny and Neville’s clutched hands. Groaning, he looked to Harry.   
  
Harry grinned distractedly at Ron, unperturbed, and just shook his head before turning to Neville. “You were going to tell me about Luna.”  
“Yeah,” said Neville. “She’s expecting you. You know, lines and all.”  
Harry stared at Neville and then at Ginny. The two refused to meet his eyes. “What is it?” Harry asked.   
  
Ron picked up on Harry’s uneasiness and stared hard at Ginny. “Ginny?” he asked.   
His sister frowned. “She isn’t herself.”  
“What does that mean?” asked Harry.  
Ginny pulled her hair from her face while she collected her thoughts. “She didn’t seem surprised about Lavender or Crabbe. She was so sad, but she said there wasn’t a safe way to save them in any outcome. But when she learned what happened to Pansy, she fell apart.”  
Harry stepped forward and put his hands on Ginny’s shoulders, urging her to look at him. “Fell apart?”  
  
“Oh, Luna,” Hermione said sadly. “She didn’t see it coming. We knew that was bound to happen sometime. But she hasn’t missed anything, I don’t think. She’s seen it all, planned it all so perfectly.”  
  
“Not this time,” answered Ginny. “She fell to her knees and screamed. It was intense magic. The whole room vibrated. She scared a lot of people.”  
“And her eyes,” Neville interrupted. “They went white.”  
  
“Please tell me that was temporary,” said Draco. “She can’t hide that from the Dark Lord or my aunt.”  
Ginny shook her head. “They were still like that this morning when she went to look for Professor McGonagall.”   
  
With a shake of his head, Harry kicked off the wall and stood straight once more. “I just can’t believe the Patil twins are the enemy.” His voice was hoarse in his obvious attempt to change the topic.   
“I’ve told you, Potter, that Bellatrix has a reputation for recruiting. She’s turned a surprising number of students.”  
“Cormac?” Hermione asked.  
Draco frowned at her question, but nodded the affirmative.   
“He was the one who murdered Lavender,” Ginny said quietly.   
“We saw that he was always with Padma and Parvati on Harry’s map,” Hermione said. “We thought that they were serving detention together and giving the Carrows trouble.”  
  
“More like the Carrows do what the Patil twins tell them if Snape isn’t around,” said Neville. “But we should head in. They’re expecting us.”  
“Who?” asked Ron.  
Neville grinned brightly. “Dumbledore’s Army. We’ve been recruiting, too.”  
  
Neville sprinted up the stairs and opened the door at the top to reveal the most amazing sight. A large number of students; students they recognized from all of the Houses, were inside the room on the other side of the door. The space was like a treehouse, with multicolored hammocks strung from the ceilings and a balcony that ran around the wood walls. And on the walls were four banners, each representing a Hogwarts House.   
  
“Where are we?” asked Harry as they crossed the entryway and the students greeted them excitedly.  
“The Room of Requirement, Potter,” said Draco behind him. There was no mistaking the return of his Slytherin drawl.   
Hermione, in a move reminiscent of Luna, poked Draco on the arm and raised her eyebrow at him. But he was on guard and his Slytherin façade would not fade entirely. He took her hand and squeezed it, as if accepting her support, and the group made their way into the treehouse room.   
  
“They have mixed feelings about me here,” he said quietly to Hermione.   
“Then help them see who you are,” she said.  
“This is a facet of me, too. I am not going to just start wearing my heart on my sleeve like a bloody Gryffindor.” He looked at her. “No offense, of course,” he added hastily.   
Hermione nodded her head as she considered his words and took in the room around them.   
  
“Isn’t it amazing?” Neville said. “I opened it back up when the Carrows were after me. I remembered it from the DA days and figured it was my only shot to get away. It was loads smaller, then, of course. It just keeps expanding as more of us need a place to hide.”  
“And the Carrows and Inquisitorial Squad can’t get inside?” Harry asked.   
  
“Thanks to Neville,” said Seamus Finnigan. “He understands this room like nobody else. And he can handle all the loopholes.”  
“Most of the loopholes,” amended Neville. “The problem was, Padma was getting really good at prowling outside the door. She was making it nearly impossible to come back if we’d left. Draco had warned us she was getting desperate, and with his help, now we have her focused on the wrong corridor in front of a false door.”  
  
The appreciative smile on Harry’s face quickly faded, however, and he turned away from the group. Grasping his forehead, he fell to his knees. Ron and Neville were quickly at his side, pulling him back up. Numerous faces in the crowd looked at Harry in concern. A handful looked at Draco in suspicion.   
  
“Draco!” called out Theo. Rushing forward, the dark-haired Slytherin embraced his friend.   
“Theo,” greeted Draco, a smile on his face. The joy broke through his emotionless mask and Hermione grinned at the change in him.  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Pansy. She’d come up behind Theo, Daphne at her side, and was looking pointedly at Harry.  
Quietly, Draco murmured, “He’s got some kind of mental connection to The Dark Lord.”  
Hermione shushed him. Shaking his head, Draco looked at her. “I won’t’ keep secrets from them, just as you won’t from your friends. They’re here. They’re on our side.”  
“I’m not asking you to keep it from them,” she said. Looking at his three friends she raised her hands in surrender. “Really. But there are how many other people in this room who won’t understand?”  
She was eyeing some of the students who seemed suspicious of Draco, her expression hard.   
  
“To be fair, I don’t think we understand,” said Theo.   
  
But Harry had risen back up and, with Ron, Ginny and Neville, approached them. “We need to get moving,” he said.   
“What’s your plan, Harry?” piped up Seamus.  
“Plan?” asked Harry. He wasn’t able to hide his pain from whatever he was experiencing from the group he was standing with, but Seamus and the other occupants of the space seemed unaware.   
“Yeah,” said Colin Creevey. “How are we going to beat You-Know-Who?”  
“Well, you see,” stuttered Harry, not sure how to answer. “We’ve come to look for an important item and then we need to leave.”  
  
“Leave?” asked Neville, baffled. “What do you mean leave, Harry? We need you here. And Luna said war is coming today!”  
Harry looked desperate. “Neville, it doesn’t have to come here. We just need to get this item and leave.”  
“He doesn’t think he needs us,” said Cho Chang. “He’s too good for us.”  
  
Ginny narrowed her eyes at the other girl and Harry cringed.   
“No, it’s just that this is something we have to finish before we can go to war,” Harry said stiffly.  
  
Cho looked ready to argue, but the door connecting the Room of Requirement to the rest of the castle opened. The air shifted in the treehouse like space, as if a gentle breeze had swept into the room and Luna Lovegood came through the door, her hair floating behind her and her eyes white. She walked towards Harry, the crowd easily separating for her, and a quiet stillness settled over the room.  
  
“I have had words with Professor Dumbledore,” she said to Harry, her voice monotone. “His plan has gone awry.”  
Harry swallowed. Luna looked so different. Her beautiful face was void of any expression. Her charming smile and kind eyes were gone.   
“What’s happened to you?” he asked. His voice was barely audible, but his desperation filled the room.  
  
Her head tilted to the side and, momentarily, there was light in her eyes again. Her hair slowly fell, no longer floating, and in a sad, tired voice she answered him.   
  
“I’ve accepted how this must end.”


	31. Sounds in the Deep

Beneath the waters of The Great Lake is the wreckage of a long-forgotten ship. A magical vessel, resembling a Drakkar, that had been commandeered by Helga Hufflepuff for a battle that had been omitted from Hogwarts history. The bones of the ship lay invisible, surrounded by an underwater cave that had swelled up around it when Helga had sunk the ship and accepted the truce that Salazar Slytherin offered.  
  
Many years later, the Fat Friar had remembered the boat’s existence when Headmaster Fytherly Undercliffe had decreed that the ghosts of the castle were an abomination and must be exorcised from the world and accept their fates. Undercliffe was determined to free the spirits from their self-inflicted purgatory and, consequently, free the castle from their chilling presence.  
  
So, just as Helga Hufflepuff had used the magnificent longship as a place of refuge for those who were threatened in the school, the Fat Friar urged the ghosts to take shelter from the danger upon them. They swarmed the waters and filled the boat, causing the surface of the lake to freeze from the ghostly chill of their vast numbers in its depths. And Undercliffe eventually realized that the ghosts served more purpose to the castle than bothersome mists of air.  
  
None of the living ever learned of the ship’s presence in The Great Lake. While Headmaster Undercliffe was able to determine where the ghosts had fled to, the assumption had simply been that the spirits had hidden in the lake itself, a suitable barrier for the exorcism the Headmaster had planned. He had walked across the frozen surface and admitted his mistake. And the ghosts had emerged to safely lead him back to shore and resume their station at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.   
  
From that moment on, the expired ship had served as the meeting place for the Hogwarts Council of the Dead. The established ghosts of the four houses would convene to consult with new ghosts and, also, in any instance where the school was threatened; an annual event since the year Harry Potter had returned to the Wizarding World.  
  
The Fat Friar, Bloody Baron, Grey Lady and Nearly Headless Nick all examined the flickering ghost blubbering before them now. He was almost impossible to see in the dark green-grey water surrounding them all. But he was obviously terrified of his surroundings, as if he still wasn’t aware of the fact that he was already dead. Then again, he’d nearly snuffed himself out in his impulsive disregard for the rules of the ghost realm. Perhaps he feared the water was all it would take to snuff him out completely.   
  
“He was in Gryffindor,” said Nicholas. He and the representatives for the other three houses were conferring together on the matter of the ghost requesting to come to terms with his new existence at the castle.   
The Grey Lady looked carefully at the trembling newbie who was waiting on their answer. “I do not think the lions will take too fondly to him,” she murmured as she narrowed her eyes at Peter Pettigrew.  
Nearly Headless Nick nodded his head, the current of the murky waters lifting it higher from his neck as he did so. “Not in these times, for certain,” he said.   
  
“I doubt they’d even notice him,” said the Fat Friar. “Look what he’s done to himself. He’s nearly invisible. It’s a miracle Myrtle saw him at all in the woods.”  
“She saw the magic of his faded ghostly glow,” said the Bloody Baron. He seemed annoyed by Peter and anxious to hurry the matter along. “Let him go where he pleases. He is of no use to the underpinning in the state he is in.”  
  
“Why did you come here?” the Grey Lady asked Peter, her voice soft.   
Peter looked up slowly, his movements sluggish and exaggerated in the water. “This is where I was happy,” he said.   
  
“I vote to let him stay if he wants,” said the Fat Friar, “as the Baron said.”  
Nearly Headless Nick agreed, his head again bobbing grotesquely. “I second… or third?” he said, laughing at his own confusion.  
  
The Grey Lady motioned to another being across from them, beckoning him forwards. He was the ghost of a former Hogwarts professor who was waiting to escort Peter to wherever it was decided he would go. “Please show him to the castle. If the school survives this night,” the Grey Lady said, “we will determine his future duties when he has galvanized from his escapades.” Again, her voice was soft and seemed to calm the shaking of the ghost in front of them.   
  
“Du—duties?” whimpered Wormtail. His expression was one of confusion. And, perhaps, a small bit of resentment. “I am sick of duties,” he whimpered.   
  
Nearly Headless Nick seemed sympathetic when he looked at him. “The magic of Hogwarts is fortified by our presence. Without our magical essence, the castle would have crumbled centuries ago. You might say that we are the lubricant to this apparatus. Once you are able, your duties will be as simple as inhabiting an area of the castle that could benefit from your magical signature. You may, of course, eventually choose to inhabit, or even haunt, another continent altogether. As a former student, however, you are welcome to stay and gain your strength back. It may take several decades, or more, but there is no hurry as you’ll find time moves differently for you now.”  
Peter was silent as the ghost of the unnamed professor guided him away, Peter’s flickering presence invisible long before that of the professor faded from the view of the remaining ghosts.   
  
“Perhaps, my lady, the fates are warning you,” said Nick as he stared at where Peter Pettigrew had been.  
The Grey Lady seemed untroubled. “I did not pull on any lines of the living, Nicholas,” she murmured. “And we are here to discuss another matter.”  
  
“Why did you do it?” the Bloody Baron asked. “Why did you guide that strange girl into harnessing the Oculi Somniantes?”  
The Grey Lady turned away from the three other ghosts. Water swirled around her and she rolled her shoulders back before turning back to them. “I asked her questions she was free to run away from. Had she not wanted to accept her gift, she would not have done so. I have not faded. Nor, have I faltered. I broke no laws.”  
  
“So, what is it you’re expecting us to do, then?” asked the Fat Friar. “Our only arrangement is to inhabit this place. The fragments of our essence are enough to maintain the ancient charms. What more is there for us to do?”  
“Perhaps we can have a Dead Party,” said Sir Nicholas, “and allow more ether of our guests to bolster the enchantments.”   
“Whose death anniversary is coming up?” asked the Fat Friar.  
Sir Nicholas scratched his chin for a brief moment. “Well, how about that chap we just saw. He just died. Perhaps a party for his death date might cheer him up.”  
“Is that even done? It seems too soon.”  
  
A harsh, ghostly rattle of chains sounded through the weight of the water. “You did not answer my question,” the Bloody Baron said fiercely in his harsh voice, staring at the Grey Lady. “Why did you do it? We all see the lines, Helena. Your meddling has allowed a dark and ancient magic to advance.”  
  
The smile on Nearly Headless Nick’s face fell while the Fat Friar snuck a drink from his eternal flask. And the Grey Lady nodded her head, meeting the Bloody Baron’s stare.  
“Sooner,” she said. “That is all that has changed. That dark magic has risen sooner, now. In a time when there is a chance to stop it. And if Maiden Lovegood had not wanted her gift, nothing would have changed! What I did was no different than guiding a student away from a fire or helping them evade Mrs. Norris or her master. I did not touch her lines!”  
  
“I see it,” said the Fat Friar. “What the ancient magic can do. How do you know it would ever have risen up if things had gone on as they were supposed to?”  
“Supposed to?” laughed Helena Ravenclaw. “The lines are always changing.”  
  
“Exactly!” said the Bloody Baron. “I still feel the need to earn your forgiveness, but your actions tempt my rage! The war you’ve brought is just beginning!”  
“What’s done is done,” she answered. “I regret nothing. If you three are too indolent to see past the lines in front of you, I cannot help you understand. This war was inevitable. It has simply come to fruition now when we, with the living, can end it as opposed to when it could end us all.”  
  
“It will not end tonight,” said Nick. His voice was strained and almost impossible to hear over the pressure of the water around them.   
“No,” agreed the Grey Lady. “What we must do, is make it known tonight. The students are only focused on the conflict with Tom Riddle right now. We cannot let the next war simmer in the shadows. We have the power to bring it to light.”  
  
“Why should it be us? You’ve already set the young Ravenclaw in motion and now… what? You’re asking us to go to war?” asked the Bloody Baron. “To fight with the living?”  
  
“We already are,” said a new voice. Moaning Myrtle emerged from the shadows of the boat, her customary unpleasant face fierce with determination. “How would that be any different from what we’re doing now?”  
“Insolent child!” bellowed the Baron and he was quickly in front of her, his chains clanking loudly as he rushed to her. “How dare you spy on a meeting of the Council!”  
  
“Oh, do calm down, Baron,” said the Fat Friar, an amused clucking sound in his throat. “She’s on rotation with the living’s child army. I assume she has news.”  
  
The Grey Lady had tensed and Myrtle would not back away from the Baron. She pushed forward so that her face was just below his chin as she looked up at him. “I do have news. But I want an answer to my question, first.”  
  
The four House Ghosts remained silent, anticipating the wailing accusations from the notorious moaning ghost. Her lack of outburst was unsettling and they looked to each other, uncertain what to do. She took their need to reply away from them, however. “If you are suggesting we act as one army, then I know there are many other ghosts who are not opposed. This group of students has made me feel seen for who I am… or for who I could have been if not for Slytherin’s Monster. Many of us would be willing to push the boundaries of this realm.”  
  
“Even after seeing what you saw in the forest? You are prepared to face that end? Possibly worse?” the Baron bit out.  
Myrtle stood her ground. “I am ready to face anything more than U-bends and toilets. I will help the magical world I was too afraid to leave.”  
The Baron clasped her shoulder and nodded to her before looking back to the other members of the council.  
  
“What news did you bring, child?” asked the Grey Lady.  
“Luna has asked for you. Draco and Harry have returned to Hogwarts with the Granger girl and Ronald Weasley.”  
  
The Grey Lady seemed to deflate, closing her eyes tightly and shaking her head back and forth.   
The Baron hesitated, preparing to approach her, before whirling away from the other occupants of the boat. His movements went against the flow of the water and stirred their misty forms.  
  
“I will inform the rest of the settlement of our decision to enlist in tonight’s battle,” the Baron said in a monotone voice. He rose up to return to the surface, but hesitated and looked back down at the Grey Lady. The silver blood stains on his translucent robes seemed to intensify before he floated away.  
  
“I thought you wanted them to get here,” said Myrtle to the Grey Lady. “Why do you look so unhappy now that they’re here.”  
“You’ll find out soon enough. Are they in my mother’s training room?”  
  
At Myrtle’s nod the remaining ghosts pushed to the surface of the lake and into the night’s sky. They quickly floated over the water and towards the castle, skirting the Forbidden Forest on their way. And in no time at all, the four ghosts were in the Room of Requirement, amid the throng of students surrounding their recently returned peers.  
  
The sudden appearance of the ghosts did not go unnoticed among the crowd. In part because Luna Lovegood had already been looking at the wall they would enter from. And in part because of the slight chill their presence brought to the room.  
  
Luna stepped away from Harry and towards the ghosts, her eyes swirling from her beautiful blue to purple and then to white. Her appearance was unchanged in every other regard, but the energy around her was clearly different.   
  
There was determination in Luna’s stance. And a cold, hard fury when she looked at the Grey Lady. Once again, an invisible wind seemed to lift her hair and rustle her yellow dress. The large number of students backed away from her and the three other ghosts did the same.   
  
The Grey Lady remained, her eyes boring into Luna’s until thousands of ice crystals formed in the air around them. And then, exhaling a breath long ago lost, the Grey Lady kneeled down before Luna and bowed her head.   
  
“I do not have time for empty apologies,” Luna said. “You have wasted too much of it already.” Her voice echoed, as if she were speaking from the depths of a cavern.   
The ghost of Helena Ravenclaw looked up quickly. “How have my actions wasted time?” she asked, insulted.  
“Your pride is your enemy, Grey Lady. You claimed little understanding of my gift, but you failed to show me how to see the lines you have seen for centuries. The one knowledge you retained since death, and you refused to share it.”  
The Grey Lady shook her head in frustration. “To show you would mean my destruction.”  
“Then who were you really saving when you tempted the fates?” Luna asked.  
  
“Luna?” Hermione asked, stepping forward and towards the two women. Draco and Harry were just behind her and Ron was urging the other students back.   
The blue of Luna’s eyes briefly flickered when she turned to Hermione.   
“Luna,” Hermione continued, “you are delving in too deep.”  
  
Luna turned to face Harry, her eyes her own again, and she smiled at him. Harry’s jaw was clenched and he looked uncomfortable. “How will this end, Luna?” he asked.  
Luna’s lips pulled down briefly before she shook her head and smiled again. “Let’s see about that last item, shall we?” she answered instead.  
  
His focus having returned to the task at hand, Harry readied to address the students in the Room of Requirement. But Luna placed her hand on his arm and shook her head. “The real reason I asked Myrtle to retrieve the Grey Lady was for you. She has the information you need.”  
  
Confused, Harry and his friends turned to the ghost. “Do you know what I need?” Harry asked the ghost, clearly confused by his own question.  
Luna chuckled softly before addressing the ghost, herself. “What can you tell us of your mother’s lost Diadem, Helena?”  
  
The Grey Lady hurled herself backwards, away from the living people looking at her, and through the ghosts of Sir Nicholas and the Fat Friar behind her. So intent on her escape, she paid no heed to the scattering mist of her two companions. Myrtle’s mouth opened, a bemoaning complaint ready to be hurled as the two ghosts reformed behind her, but she quickly snapped it shut when Luna raised her arm and stared at her.   
  
“I will be patient with your hesitation,” Luna said, looking back to the Grey Lady. “But if your plans are to come to fruition, Harry must find it.”  
“I don’t know where it is!” Helena exclaimed. “Tom Riddle took it.”  
  
“When? Where?” Harry questioned urgently. “He thinks it’s here. It has to be here!”  
Hermione grabbed his arm and turned him to look at her. “Harry! That’s it,” she exclaimed. “This room. The Room of Requirement! He was so confident he knew all the castle’s secrets. What if it was because he had discovered this room? Was there a time he could have hid it here?”  
“A Diadem?” Draco murmured. “Is that like a tiara?”  
Luna nodded her head bemusedly and the Grey Lady frowned.  
“I’ve seen it!” exclaimed Harry. “When I had to get rid of my potions book.”  
  
“As have I,” said Draco. “It was on the bust of a warlock wearing a wig. Rather funny placement, actually.”  
“Glad you approve,” muttered Harry and Draco raised his eyebrow.   
  
Harry shook his head, letting the conversation drop and looked at his companions. “We’ll have to get everyone out of here so we can reset the room.”  
“No,” said Luna, “that won’t be necessary. Isn’t that right, Helena?”  
  
“I will not help you,” the ghost said quietly. “It must stay lost.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Cho Chang shouted, her voice cross. “Are we going to war or playing dress up?”  
“For once I agree with her,” said Seamus as several of the confused students behind him nodded their heads in agreement.   
  
Neville placed his hand on Seamus’s shoulder and looked at the restless students. “Of course, we’re going to war! Whether Harry can fight with us or not, Hogwarts is ours tonight! I trust that Harry is doing what he knows is best to bring down that noseless-snake. And we will rid our school of his followers! We are Dumbledore’s Army! We will not bow down!”  
  
“That’s right!” hollered Ginny who had stepped beside him. “Members of the Order are on their way. As Harry said, Voldemort is already coming! Say his name! Don’t let him come here still controlling you. We can do this!”  
  
A loud roar filled the room as the students cheered. Harry looked quickly to Luna, but she was staring hard at the Grey Lady.   
“We have to destroy that horcrux,” he said urgently to Luna, trying to be heard over the rumble around him. “He’s coming.”  
  
Luna tilted her head towards the painting on the wall. “In a moment, Harry. I have to take care of two lines first.”  
Harry followed Luna’s line of sight to the portrait and wasn’t surprised to watch is swing open and reveal two red-heads jumping down into the room. Fred and George Weasley had arrived, with Lee Jordan behind them.   
  
“Having a party?” Fred asked.  
“Rude of you not to invite us,” said George.  
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” answered Ginny.   
Ron grinned and rushed forward to hug his brothers, who patted him hard on the back and seemed delighted to see him.   
  
Looking serious, Lee approached Neville. “Aberforth’s getting irritated. I don’t think he’s thrilled so many of us will be apparating into his bar.”  
“Neville!” said Harry. “How many people are coming? We just needed to get in and get out.”  
  
“Then do that,” said Ginny. “That’s what you do, right? Go off on your own with Hermione and Ron. Go do your thing! But we are going to get out of this mess, Harry James Potter. We are going to fight for our school!”  
“Why can’t they help us?” asked Ron. “He’s coming. And from how you reacted on the shore, he wasn’t very reasonable at the last place when he discovered his horcrux was missing. Imagine what he’d do here if we’d already gone?”  
  
Looking around the room, Harry watched as the students from all four houses looked at him. Fred and George were eyeing Draco carefully, but only in a way that suggested they were planning a prank. Lee was already saying hello to Theo, Daphne and Pansy; somehow open to the idea of the students of his rival house being on his team now.  
  
Even the ghosts were in deliberation with each other. The Bloody Baron had arrived. And though Harry had expected them to exit the room as soon as they had the opportunity, the five ghosts simply floated above the room and waited.   
  
Harry pulled his fingers through his hair and growled in frustration. Turning quickly, he pulled Luna closer to him. “Tell me what to do, Luna.”  
“No, Harry. You have to decide for yourself what you are going to do.”  
  
“It’s an awful lot to put on one person, isn’t it?” asked Draco. “Like Weasley said, they can help. And we can help you plan, Potter. Just tell us what we’re planning.”  
“Luna said we didn’t have to reset the room,” said Hermione. “Shouldn’t we start with the horcrux?”  
Ron nodded his head. “We have several missions to complete. Two horcruxes. If Moldyshorts is coming here, he’ll bring the snake. We’d be smart to wait him out and see if we can get it, too.”  
  
Luna continued to stare at Harry. “This will only end as it should if you make your choices, Harry. You have to choose what you want to do.”  
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” said Harry. “I can’t stand anyone else getting hurt for me.  
  
“Don’t be so self-absorbed, Potter,” said Pansy. “We Slytherins would do very little for you.”  
“But this is our school, too,” said Theo.  
“And not all of us believe in the future Lord Voldemort has planned,” Daphne added. “As Ginny said: We can do this!”  
  
Their words seemed to energize the room again, as well as Harry. He nodded in their direction and stood up straight. Again, the portrait swung open and Fleur and Bill stepped down. They were quickly greeted by the twins and Lee Jordan and made their way over to Neville and Ginny, waving to Harry as they did so.   
  
“I don’t know where to start,” said Harry.  
“Trust your friends to help you,” said Luna. “Neville and Ginny are already leaders here.”  
It was true. Aside from their own little group, the rest of the occupants of the room were starting to make their way to Ginny and Neville. Neville met Harry’s glance and shrugged his shoulder before turning back to his conversation with Bill and Fleur.   
  
“What do you three think?” Harry asked Hermione, Ron and Draco.   
“Trust Luna,” said Hermione. “And yourself.”  
Ron and Draco nodded their agreement.  
Looking back at his former girlfriend and Neville, Harry seemed to realize that they already had their situation well under control. The rest of the students were looking to them; looking to prepare for battle.   
  
“Luna? You said you had two lines to look out for?” Harry asked.  
But Luna had already walked away from the group. Looking around quickly, the four of them seemed to find her at the same time. She was talking with Fred and George, whose faces had become ashen.   
  
“I don’t like the looks of that,” said Ron.   
Hermione grabbed his arm and Harry met Draco’s gaze. The truth of Ron’s words was hard to ignore. Whatever Luna was discussing with the twins, it couldn’t be good.  
  
“Harry, we have to keep moving. Like you said,” Hermione said, trying to get them back on task.  
“Hermione’s right,” Ron said, turning his gaze away from his brothers and back to Harry.  
“Do we stay together?” asked Draco. “How much time will we waste if we can’t split up to find his snake?”  
“Yes, but we only have one sword. How could any of us destroy a horcrux if we came across it without the sword?” asked Harry.  
  
“Helena Ravenclaw!” Luna called out.   
The loud murmuring of the room quieted at the harshness in Luna Lovegood’s tone. She spoke as an angered mother, calling for a disobedient child. That shock of learning the Grey Lady’s identity was nothing compared to the shock that she actually came when Luna beckoned. The four other ghosts trailed behind the ghost of Ravenclaw, intrigued by the dynamics of the two women.  
  
Luna had returned to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco. Her hair was floating again and a noise like the wind surrounded the five of them and the ghosts that floated above their heads. Luna’s eyes were swirling between blue and purple and the Grey Lady slowly settled opposite Luna, keeping Harry and the others between them.   
  
Luna was unbothered by the Grey Lady’s distance. “We must move quickly, Helena. You have tempted fate but managed to stay within the laws. In doing so, however, you have brought about unnecessary variations. I refuse to let all the lines be corrupted tonight, Helena. Help me salvage what I can. Open the door.”  
  
Helena Ravenclaw shook her head and almost seemed to cower before standing to her full height. “I will not, Maiden Lovegood. I don’t want to ever know what he did to it.”  
“Open the door or show me how to,” said Luna.   
“No!” exclaimed Nearly Headless Nick from above. “She will show you nothing! You have already awakened your magic. Why would you expect her to do this?”  
  
The mysterious wind-like noise around the group intensified and the rest of the room seemed to fade away. They were alone in a swirling funnel of dust and magic and it swept at their hair and pulled at their clothes.  
  
“Luna!” Hermione yelled. “Is this your doing?”  
The Fat Friar laughed at Hermione’s outburst and Moaning Myrtle smirked.   
“It’s a haunting,” said Ron. “They are ghosts, after all.”  
  
The ghosts were circling high above their heads, seeming to focus on the whirlwind around them all. Both Ron and Draco looked extremely uneasy, coming back to back to keep their eyes on all of the ghosts. Hermione and Harry followed suit and Draco reached out and took Hermione’s free hand in his own.   
“Don’t be silly, children,” said the Friar, looking down with an amused expression. “We would never harm the students of Hogwarts. It only seemed prudent to keep our conversation to ourselves.”  
  
“Luna,” Harry said. “Why can’t we just reset the room?”  
“She doesn’t like the direction of the lines if we do that,” said Ron.  
“How would you know that?” asked Draco.  
Ron shrugged his shoulders. “Obvious, isn’t it?” he said, not taking his eyes of the Fat Friar.  
Draco nodded curtly, his eyes never leaving the Bloody Baron.  
  
“Ronald is right,” said Luna. “The lines are best if we complete our use of the Room in one exit.”

“I don’t see that,” said the Grey Lady.   
“You don’t see it because your idea of what is expendable is different than mine.” Luna’s voice was still pleasant, but the tone was hard. “You chose to help me find my gift. You chose to help me see the magic of our world differently. Accept that I will do my best to find the outcome best for the many, not just the few.” Luna’s eyes had gone white again and her yellow dress and hair were fluttering against the wind.  
  
“Luna, whatever you’re doing, please don’t lose yourself,” Hermione said urgently. “Remember your Occlumency walls. Remember the signs to look for when in the midst of wakeful dreams!”  
Draco looked quickly to Hermione and she frowned. Her concern for Luna was contagious and Draco tightened his grip on his wand before turning his attention back to the ghosts.  
  
The Bloody Baron suddenly floated in front of the Grey Lady and bowed before her. “I will open the door,” he said, “if you show me.”  
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Harry whispered above the noise to the group.  
“I don’t think any of us do,” said Draco.  
“This is madness!” cried out Sir Nicholas. “This is not the time to for any of us to be lost! If we are to move forward against the next uprising, we must not sacrifice any of our essence!”  
  
“Could we do it together?” Luna asked, sounding more like herself. “Would that distribute the penalty among us all?”  
“That is dangerous,” the Friar called down, “since we don’t know what the consequence would be to the living.”  
  
“It isn’t worth the risk!” Harry yelled. “Whatever you’re doing, it isn’t worth the risk, Luna. You told me before that you have to follow the rules. That if you did what you wanted instead of what was needed, you could destroy magic! You could destroy yourself!”  
  
Luna tilted her head, her white eyes boring into Harry. Briefly, it seemed she would touch him, but her hand fell. Both Harry and Hermione were still back to back, as were Draco and Ron, and Luna’s face turned to look at them all before settling on Hermione.   
“I agree with Harry!” shouted Hermione, unaware of Luna’s gaze on her. “Just because the ghosts can see this other plane doesn’t mean we can or should access it. We should just reset the room!”  
  
Turning sharply away from her huddled friends, Luna faced the Grey Lady. “You were not wrong,” Luna said to her. “You just didn’t choose wisely in how you helped me. We can end the Witch of the Oak Woods and the magic that fuels her. But only if you open the door.”  
  
“What door, Luna?” Hermione asked. “What happens if we reset the room? I don’t want riddles, I want you to tell us why we have to open a door!”  
Hermione’s voice was shaking from calling out so hard to be heard over the storm around them. Draco squeezed her hand and looked over at Harry. But Harry was completely focused on Luna, oblivious to everything else around them.  
  
Luna would not look at Hermione, her attention still on the Grey Lady. “Own your choices and tell her. Tell them what you’ve done.”  
“You could have saved them all,” the Grey Lady said in surprise. Her voice was like an echo on the whirling magic around them. “If I had helped you… If I had been willing to give up this pale existence, you could have changed everything.”  
  
Luna approached the shimmering form of the daughter of Ravenclaw and placed her hand on the mist that made her arm. Her touch was delicate, and did not push through the form of the lady. “I am not free from mistakes, Grey Lady. Pansy was abused. Hannah was deformed. I could not save Vincent or Lavender. But I was determined to find the least painful end for them and, because of that, I failed to see the consequences of ignoring the other lives involved. And your missteps were not yours alone. There were many souls involved in what is coming.”  
  
“Do we have time for this?” Draco called out. “What happens if we don’t open the door?”  
In unison, the Grey Lady and Luna turned to him. “You die,” they said.   
  
“No!” Hermione gasped, stepping away from Harry and closer to Draco.   
“Just me?” asked Draco after a pause. “And couldn’t we avoid that if I went back to Aberforth’s? I could come back, right?”  
“The room has to be excluded from the battle once the last person exits. If we enter the room again, there is a price for its use,” said Luna.   
“And it’s always Draco?” asked Hermione.  
  
“No,” said Luna.  
But Hermione’s look of relief was countered by Draco’s look of horror. He understood what hadn’t been said. He understood it was either him or Hermione. “I couldn’t go on without her,” her murmured.   
“And you shouldn’t,” said Luna. “You two should not separate.”  
Draco stepped away from Ron completely and pulled Hermione to his chest, kissing the top of her head before, remembering the possible danger they were in inside the funnel of wind, he once again moved her back to back with Harry and resumed his own guarded stance.  
  
“I knew they were bonded!” exclaimed Ron.  
“They are not,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “There’s another word for it. Do you remember?” he asked the Baron. But the Baron ignored the other ghost and resumed his place in the rotation above the group below.  
  
“Language has changed,” said Hermione quietly.  
“Yes, that’s quite right,” said Nicholas.  
“This is worse than talking with House Elves,” Ron said, exasperated.   
  
“Of course, no one would ask my opinion. Not the opinion of poor, stupid Moaning Myrtle.”  
The Fat Friar seemed to move more quickly, giving himself more space from Myrtle.   
“Do you think they’re bonded?” asked Ron.  
  
“How dumb are you?” asked Myrtle. “I was talking about the door!”  
“Well excuse me!” he yelled back at her. “I don’t even understand what door we’re talking about.”  
“The door to the Room of Lost Things.”  
“But we’re already in the room!”  
  
“No,” said Harry. “We’re in the Room of Requirement. And how Neville set it up for Dumbledore’s Army.”  
“But it’s the same place,” countered Ron.  
  
Hermione squealed. “Of course! How could I have missed it? It’s not the same place, it’s the same space. They’re magical compartments on top of each other. It isn’t so much as resetting the room, as it is accessing a different section of the space. It’s just like in the Department of Mysteries. We saw the doors to the different chambers inside the circular room. The doors would spin and we would enter another chamber.”  
“You actually were in the Unspeakables’ Level?” Draco asked.  
“Yes, but that isn’t the point right now,” said Hermione. “The point is that when the door to the Room, or rather Rooms, of Requirement opens in Hogwarts, it isn’t always the same door. The room isn’t changing, so much as the door is. We just have to find the door to the Room of Hidden Things inside this space. That’s assuming that the compartments have connecting doors, but I trust Luna that we can get to the door here.”  
  
“Why can’t Luna see it, then?” asked Ron.  
“Because the room isn’t a person, Ron,” said Hermione. “It’s on different layers of the fabric of magic, so it isn’t using the same lines. Luna is seeing the planes of magic as they are tied to witches and wizards.”  
“People, actually,” Luna interrupted.  
“Yes, sure,” said Hermione. “And the ghosts can see all magic.”  
  
“How many people die if we open the door,” asked Harry. He quickly looked over at Draco, his expression guilty.  
“That’s a fair question, Potter,” Draco said. “I want to know the answer, too.”  
  
“Myrtle,” said Hermione, still caught up in her recent discovery. “Did you have an idea about the door?”  
Myrtle stopped her circling movements and fluttered down to the ground. Her disagreeable face examined Hermione carefully. “I never liked you,” she said. “Too much of a know it all for someone who didn’t know anything about the magical world before she started going to school here at the castle. And both Harry and Draco paid too much attention to you.”  
  
Hermione just looked at the ghost and waited.   
“He used to call you mudblood, you know,” said Myrtle. “Until he found out I was one too. I think you would have some competition if I were alive.”  
Hermione nodded. “Yes, Myrtle. I think you’re right.”  
Myrtle narrowed her eyes at Hermione, as if trying to determine if the curly haired girl was mocking her.  
  
“Luna?” Harry asked, trying to get back to his earlier question.  
Luna was looking up at the ceiling that was unobscured by the whirlwind the ghosts had created. “The doors are not connected,” she said after some thought. “Each room has one door. That is why Helena must open it. The charms used on the doors is a knowledge she had before she died so she is the only one here who will recognize which door you need to go through. She must reach through the layers of the magic and pull the door into this space, but opening it will exterminate her.”  
  
“But she’s already dead,” said Ron.  
The ghosts had stopped circling above and floated down to the group below.   
“It is a fate worse than death, Mr. Weasley,” said Sir Nicholas. “Her spirit will cease to exist on any realm. To do this, to assist the living in crossing planes of magic, is to disregard the laws that allow us to stay here. She will forfeit the Veil.”  
  
“Show me!” the baron demanded.   
The Grey Lady shook her head as the dust and magic that had swirled around them all settled. The crowd of students in the room had stepped back from the storm of magic, but Bill and Fleur were right there, their wands out and looking at the unfolding scene with obvious concern. Professor McGonagall had arrived. And with her, Severus Snape. They two stood just where the storm had raged inside the room, on the other side of Fleur and Bill.  
  
“What is going on here?” demanded McGonagall as she eyed the windswept students surrounded by ghosts. “Why is there a haunting taking place on school grounds? And could you not have restrained that awful chorus of ringing bells?”  
  
“Bells?” Harry asked Ron.  
Ron just shrugged. “Not uncommon in a haunting. Probably used them to keep anyone from overhearing.”  
“The wind wasn’t enough?”  
  
“Show me, Helena!” the Baron shouted again. “I will pay my debts tonight.”  
The Grey Lady narrowed her eyes at him. “Your debts? Are your chains not enough? Or the blood on your robes?”   
“They will never be enough.” His voice was melancholy.   
  
The Grey Lady turned from him and lifted her hands above her head. She closed them, as if holding onto fabric, and pulled whatever invisible thing she grasped from the air. And, suddenly, there was a glittering door. It was identical in shape and size to the door inside Hogwarts that led to the Rooms of Requirement. But this one was flickering, as if a reflection on water, and made from the same ghostly mist as the woman who had revealed it.   
“Then I will not stop you,” the Grey Lady said, as if tempting the Baron to back down.  
  
There was no hesitation as he moved forward. His chains falling away from his form and the blood stains fading as he reached out and turned the handle of the door before disappearing in the blink of an eye.  
  
Professor McGonagall let out a startled sound and Bill and Fleur moved closer to her and Snape. Bill eyed the oily man, momentarily, but accepted McGonagall’s stern look to behave.  
  
“He’s gone?” Myrtle said as she stared at the space the baron had been. “Just like that?”  
The Fat Friar moved beside her, placing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in a gentle hug. “He will fade from our memories, child. As if he had never been a part of them.”  
“He’ll become a nagging thought,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “We won’t recall who gave his replies, or who could keep Peeves in line. His contributions will become blank pages we don’t know how to fill.”  
  
“How is what he did worse than what Peter Pettigrew did?” Myrtle shouted. “The Baron did this to save the living! To save her!” she screeched as she pointed at the Grey Lady. “Why should he be punished into oblivion when Pettigrew is just faded vermin! That stupid rat can come back to full ghost form! This isn’t right!”  
“Don’t fret so much, Myrtle,” said the Fat Friar. “In just a few hours you’ll have forgotten this completely.”  
“He murdered me!” cried the Grey Lady. “And still followed me in death! His punishment is not unjust.”  
“Now, madam, ghosts do not judge each other,” said Nicholas. “And, Myrtle, I think he was relieved in his decision. His chains fell away, after all.”  
  
“Peter Pettigrew?” Harry asked. “He’s here? He’s a ghost at Hogwarts?”  
“In theory,” said Sir Nicholas. “Although, he played with the lines of a couple of muggles and severed his connection to this realm severely. It will take a lifetime or two for him to be strong enough to do any kind of haunting. He is barely formed enough to even inhabit the school.”  
  
“I don’t understand how Luna knew so much about this,” Draco whispered in Hermione’s ear. “If she can’t see the same planes they can see, how did she even know what she was looking for?”  
Hermione’s forehead furrowed in thought, but their conversation was interrupted.  
  
“Shouldn’t we go in there?” asked Ron, pointing at the door the baron had opened. “I know a lot’s happening, but Moldyshorts has got to be getting pretty close by now.”  
  
“Why are you here?” Professor McGonagall interrupted. “And is it true that you have practically invited him to war at Hogwarts?”   
  
“Yes,” said Snape. “And why are these children not demanding my head on a silver platter?” he added while keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on the vast number of students paying him no attention.  
  
“Actually,” said Hermione, “where is everyone? There’s only a third of the students that were here before. Where’s Ginny? And Pansy?”  
“Preparing their defenses,” said McGonagall, “as I will be doing momentarily.”  
“And as we should do now, since whatever was happening here seems to have ended,” said Bill. He nodded his farewell, embracing his brother in a tight embrace, before he and Fleur returned to Neville.  
  
“Thank you for coming for me, Professor McGonagall,” Luna said, appearing to be back to normal. “I must speak with the portrait again, as soon as possible.”  
“The inner stone guardians are aware of your permission to enter. The password will be obvious to you upon their question.”  
  
“Professor Snape?” Luna said. “You must go with Harry and Draco. And Draco and Hermione must not be separated.   
“No.” Harry said defiantly. “I don’t need his help.”  
“You do,” said Luna. “And I will be less distracted if you are together. Only until you know why you can trust him.”  
“Is it really necessary, Ms. Lovegood?” Snape asked. “I have prepared the memories.”  
  
“Do not try to tame me, sir,” Luna said, purple swirling in her blue eyes again. “The magic of the ancients is within me and I will heed its guidance over your arrogance.”  
  
“Miss Lovegood,” said Professor McGonagall, unable to hide her surprise.   
But Luna turned to her and the words died in the professor’s mouth.   
“War is here,” Luna said. “Now.”  
  
Hermione and Draco had moved just outside the exposed door to the Room of Hidden Things. Still holding each other’s hands, they stepped as one over the threshold. Ron looked at Harry and pointed his head at Luna before following the other two through the door. Snape turned quickly, his robes billowing behind him as he too passed through the door, mumbling about dunderheads and teenage angst.   
  
Professor McGonagall had left, Harry wasn’t sure where to or when, leaving Harry alone with Luna by the door to the next horcrux.   
And he stared at the blonde enchantress before him. “You said that you’ve accepted how this has to end,” said Harry.  
“Just like you have,” Luna answered quietly.   
“Is this the only way it can end?”  
“If you are going to keep Tom Riddle from coming back, there is only way for this to go.”  
  
“We won’t have any more time together?” Harry asked. “I wanted that, Luna. I have been wanting that for so long now. I think I have wanted it for longer than I even understood.”  
“I can’t see anything past the darkness over you, Harry,” Luna said.   
  
Harry ached to see tears in her eyes and lifted his hands to wipe them with his thumbs.  
“All I wanted was a happy ending,” Harry said.   
  
Luna sobbed and nodded her head. “Me too.”  
“Will you get one?” he asked her. His hands were still holding her face as he looked into her charming blue eyes.   
She shook her head. “Not without you.”  
  
“Promise me you’ll try,” he said.  
Her eyes swirled blue and purple and white, before settling on her beautiful blue. There was a light behind her irises that he recognized as only hers.   
“I promise, Harry, I’ll try.”  
  
Guiding her face towards his own, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. It was a soft kiss. A plump feeling of being complete. And it was over too soon when he pulled away and slipped into the other room, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.  
  
The sound of it echoed through the room, vibrating in her ears and repeating in her head. Luna looked at the door for several moments, staring at the finality of its closing, before it slowly disappeared behind an invisible curtain. She closed her eyes, stopping her tears, and lifted her head high.   
  
Her time was up. War had come. And now she must have another conversation with Rowena Ravenclaw’s portrait.


	32. Sparkling Conran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: burns

The blue magic that made up the entryway was like static around them. Hermione looked at Draco as they crossed the doorway into the Room of Hidden Things and it was impossible to miss that the world seemed to shift as they stepped through the frame the Gray Lady had revealed. Hermione had to close her eyes briefly to rid herself of the vertigo that threatened to consume her.   
  
She tried to imagine what it had been like for Draco, all those months hidden away in this magic place and repairing the cabinet that would doom them all. Tightening her grip in his hand, she couldn’t help but recall the noises he had made in his sleep in their shared room at Shell Cottage and the way he had whimpered about what would become of his mother if he failed. During those restless nights, she had to wipe the sweat of his nightmares from his forehead and soothe his sleeping form with whispered promises that everything would be okay. Hermione was well aware that this place, and what he had felt duty-bound to do here, would likely haunt him forever.   
  
She watched as he took in the room around them and his already pale skin became white. Seeing his reaction, Hermione also examined the room they had entered. The vast space was shocking in its size. There was an unimaginable number of things in infinite piles that seemed to touch the ceiling; a ceiling that was so high up she could imagine there were clouds tucked between the piles of rubbish. The air was stale in the room, but there was a subtle smell of sulfur dioxide.   
  
Draco moved forward, as if pulled by an invisible leash, and Hermione didn’t stop to think about where they were going; she knew. There was only one thing should would want to see if she had been compelled to do what he had done here. He was taking them to where the cabinet was and Hermione realized she was excited to see the dreaded piece of furniture. She had wanted to look at the cabinet and figure out the mechanics of it since she had first heard about it.   
  
The further they walked into the room, the stronger the smell became. And suddenly Draco stopped, causing Hermione to jolt. Her confusion at his abrupt halt faded, however, as the pile of ash on the floor caught her attention.   
  
Hermione leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I still can’t fathom how you were able to do this without telling anyone. I would have gone mad in frustration after so many complications.”  
He chuckled softly. “I did go mad, Hermione. I had imaginary conversations with my father. And with you.”  
She looked at him and offered a small smile. It did feel good being reminded that he had thought about her as often as she had about him. That he had wondered what it would be like to get to know each other; to exist without the war and his family’s demands.  
“I am so incredibly impressed you were able to fix it, Draco. I just wish I could have seen it before it was destroyed.”  
“Yes, well I figured it out by watching you.” He grimaced at her confusion. “You reminded me magic is all about intent with your obsessive studying of the three D’s of Divination.” He seemed to avoid looking at her as he put the toe of his shoe in the ash on the floor, swirling it around for a moment. “I do wish that I had been the one to destroy it, though.”  
  
There was a chill in the air when a startling voice sounded in the silence.  
“Professor McGonagall incinerated the cabinet that night,” said Moaning Myrtle, her voice loud in the unexpected sound of it. “After Dumbledore died.”  
  
Draco turned and stared at the four ghosts who had followed them, his hand still firmly holding Hermione’s. She squeezed his hand and tried to settle her startled heartbeat.  
“That was probably for the best,” Draco answered, moving closer to Hermione. “I’d hate to think the Death Eaters could surprise us by using it again.”  
  
“Us?” asked Helena, accusation clear in her expression as she looked down her nose at Draco.  
“Of, course,” Hermione said quickly. “Draco’s on our side.” She briefly wondered how many times she would have to say that tonight.  
  
Hermione’s eyes moved through the ghosts to the redhaired man approaching. Ron had followed through the doorway that was still shimmering at the end of the long aisle they had walked. He nodded to her before looking at the Grey Lady.  
“I thought you didn’t want to see what happened to your mum’s Diadem? Why are you here?” Ron asked the ghost. His tone was harsh.  
  
“Ron!” Hermione admonished, before she was distracted by Professor Snape coming through the still shimmering doorway.  
“What?” Ron asked. “Not much loyalty, in this one. She stole her mum’s jewelry and then let the Bloody Baron get snuffed out for her. Whose to say what side she’s on, but she’s throwing haughty questions around like she’s in charge.”  
“It almost sounds like you’re defending me, Weasley,” muttered Draco.   
“Yeah, well, I trust you. I don’t trust her.”  
  
Draco’s surprise was evident and Hermione felt her own relief at Ron’s words. With Ron and Harry also clear that Draco wasn’t a threat, he might just make it through this war alive.  
“Besides, Luna wasn’t very nice to her. That’s pretty nerve-wracking,” Ron said.  
The truth of Ron’s words had both Draco and Hermione staring hard at the Grey Lady.  
  
“Of, course she’s trustworthy!” said the Fat Friar while Moaning Myrtle grinned and looked back and forth between Ron and the Ravenclaw ghost. The Grey Lady was scowling at the redhead, as if she could squash him with her glare. And Draco placed himself in front of Hermione, blocking her from the ghosts. Her momentary affront was replaced by gratification when she accepted the gesture for what it really was, however, and she placed her free hand at his waste.  
  
“Well, I am sure you can see why he’s doubting her,” Sir Nicholas said to the Fat Friar. “But we must be moving along. Many of the Order of the Phoenix arrived while we were haunting. The ghosts must be galvanized, but without the Bloody Baron to lead the troops, we need to coordinate who the new Slytherin ghost will be.”  
  
Snape, having just made it to them, raised his eyebrow at their conversation. He nodded to his godson and, as he did so, Hermione realized that Draco looked apprehensive. She squeezed Draco’s hand and the young man moved beside her. He smiled at her, briefly, as if trying to assure her that he was all right. But Draco had an agitated look in his pale grey eyes and Hermione knew he was far from fine. But, really, were any of them fine?   
  
War was here, after all. Any of them could die tonight. She squeezed his hand again. At his grunt, she realized how hard she was holding on to him, and tried to relax. He lifted their joined hands to his face, and kissed the back of hers. It was quick, but brought her welcome comfort.  
  
“Lead the troops?” Snape drawled, staring at the ghosts.  
“Yes,” said the Grey Lady. “We will be defending the castle.”  
“Is that possible to do without risking the structure itself?”  
  
The sound of a door closing distracted all of them from the Lady’s reply. Harry had entered the room and was rubbing his forehead as he hurried down the aisle to join them. Hermione looked at Professor Snape, trying to ascertain his reaction to Harry. He was scowling, as usual, but his attention seemed solely on Harry’s forehead.  
  
“How close is he?” Snape asked the dark-haired boy while rubbing the dark mark on his arm that was hidden by the sleeve of his cloak.   
Harry met his eyes and grimaced. “He’s here. There’s some kind of magical shield around the castle and they can’t get through.”  
“Oh, I love that spell!” declared the Fat Friar. He was looking at Nearly Headless Nick and clapping his hands. “We really must be going,” the Fat Friar said to the other ghost.  
  
The Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick left immediately, without so much as a farewell, taking the Grey Lady with them. But Myrtle remained, floating between Harry and Draco and staring at the Headmaster.  
  
Snape was looking at the ghost, but Draco stepped towards him and his hand slid from Hermione’s. She was shocked at how wrong it felt to be disconnected from him. It was more than just his lack of warmth; she felt unbalanced. Before she could think more of it, however, Draco pulled her closer to him, his arm around her waist.  
“Godfather?” Draco asked Snape, “what do you know of my parents? Have you heard from them since the manor fell?” The fear in his voice was palpable, settling heavily on all of them.   
  
Harry pulled Ron aside and nodded down another aisle of rubbish piles. As the two men left in search of the Diadem, Myrtle floated behind them. She looked back briefly, her gaze flickering at Draco and Hermione, before she hurried after Harry and Ron.   
  
Snape shook his head at Draco, his eyes briefly on Hermione. “I am sorry, Draco. I have no news about Lucius or Narcissa. The Dark Lord believes your father to be dead. He believed the same of you, coincidently enough. Why is that?”  
  
Draco quickly looked at Hermione, unsure of what he could say to his godfather. Hermione realized that they had never discussed it, but at some point, Draco had concluded that Luna was capable of much more magic than most were privy to. Hermione had always felt that it was Luna’s job to tell people that she was a weaver. She hadn’t considered what to do about the magic Luna had openly displayed…  
  
Hermione felt uncomfortable. There was still so much they didn’t know about Severus Snape. He was a brilliant man, if a horrible teacher. But hadn’t she thought that of Draco? She had despised this young man with an intensity that consumed her. She had been so frustrated that he could be brilliant and naïve at the same time. And now she trusted Draco completely. Dumbledore had trusted Snape. And Luna obviously did, too.   
  
Hermione met Draco’s eyes with her own and smiled nervously. “She never told us not to tell anyone,” she said to him.  
“I assumed that went without saying,” he answered.  
“She isn’t a Slytherin, Draco.”  
  
“What does Miss Lovegood have to do with this?” Snape bit out, obviously annoyed with his former students.  
Draco stared at Hermione a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to be sure she hadn’t changed her mind, before he turned back to his godfather. Clenching his jaw and raising his chin, Draco rolled up his sleeve to expose his scarred, but ink free, arm to his godfather.  
  
The usually unpleasant face of Severus Snape was transformed with shock. His eyes widened and his lips parted as he inhaled his denial. He reached out and grabbed Draco’s arm, his wand raised swiftly and pointed at the scars as he murmured incantations Hermione did not recognize.   
  
Hermione barely registered what she was doing before her wand was pointed at her former Potions Professor. She kept her focus solely on his face and briefly considered setting his robes aflame. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she was confident he could read her mind even without his wand pointed at her.   
  
Snape slowly raised his arms up and away from Draco, his wand held loosely in his hand. Neither Draco or Hermione missed his reaction to her wand, however. Snape lowered his hands, but never took his eyes off of Hermione’s wand.  
“That is the second idiosyncratic wand I have seen this week,” Snape said. He looked intently and the instrument in her hand, his eyes seeming to take in every detail. “Do I know that wand?”  
  
Hermione felt her eyes narrow as she looked at the man in front of her, but she ignored his questions and asked one of her own.  
“What spells were you casting just now on Draco’s arm?” She felt instant relief when Draco moved closer to her, his arm touching hers.  
  
Easily, Snape placed his wand back in its holster, as if it were nothing more than a muggle writing utensil he no longer needed. He jutted out his chin and sucked in his lips so only a thin line remained on his face. “I was making sure it was actually gone,” he said. Noticing the question forming on Hermione’s mouth, he cut her off before she could ask it. “Hogwarts, when run by trained and passably sane staff, only teaches Ministry approved magic, Miss Granger. I am sure you have seen more than enough examples of other magic to know that you have only been exposed to the, what is it muggles say? The tip of the iceberg?”  
  
Hermione’s mouth snapped shut and Draco started rolling down his sleeve, but Snape stopped him.  
“No, Draco. Leave your arms exposed. It will serve you well on all counts. The Order will know you are not a Death Eater and the Death Eaters will be too distracted by their desire to know how you removed it to kill you.”  
  
“What other wand are you talking about?” Draco asked. “Bella’s?”  
“You’ve seen it?” Snape asked.  
“Yes, at the bank,” said Hermione.   
Draco smirked, the expression setting Hermione at ease in the familiarity of it. He looked like himself, the petulant boy up to something wicked. His eyes crinkled slightly when he looked at her, and she realized that she was smirking, too.   
  
“Yes,” Snape said, choosing to ignore their exchange. “Reports say the Dark Lord removed her eye with her own dagger for that little failure.”  
“What!” Draco exclaimed. “Who’s saying that?” he asked heatedly.   
  
Running footsteps could be heard while Snape stared at Draco as if he were some sort of bug.   
“I see no reason to be upset by this,” Snape said. “She could fall over dead and I am sure you would be relieved. I find a certain satisfaction that he pulled her eye out of her skull and squeezed it to a pulp in his hand. Evidently, he even wiped his hand off on her.”  
  
Harry and Ron burst through another aisle, panting heavily.   
“What’s going on?” Harry breathed out, his wand pointed directly at Snape.   
Hermione met Harry’s gaze and realized that her wand was still doing the same. She shook her head and lowered her arm.   
“It’s fine, Harry. Draco was just shocked to hear that Moldyshorts punished Bellatrix by using her dagger to remove her eye.”  
  
“What!” hollered Ron. “That stupid snake!”  
Draco nodded his head and Harry just laughed.   
“I wonder how many times he’s taken credit for things he didn’t do,” said Harry.   
  
Hermione shrugged. “He just finished the job, from the sounds of it. And I don’t know that I want anyone knowing my part in that. They might think I could do it again,” she laughed nervously. “But where’s Myrtle?” she added, trying to change the subject.  
“Checking on what’s going on in the castle,” said Harry. “And why couldn’t you throw a dagger like that again?”  
Hermione missed Snape’s curious expression when she noticed something shiny in Harry’s other hand and her anxiety returned, followed closely by excitement. “Oh, Harry! You’ve found it! The Diadem!” she exclaimed.  
  
Harry shrugged and held up the tiara for the group to see, his eyes boring into Snape. He then approached his former tutor, his attention solely on him. “This is a horcrux, Snape,” he said, raising the Diadem for the older man to see clearly. “Are you going to try to stop us from destroying something so important to your master?” The words were unforgiving from Harry’s mouth, but Snape hardly seemed bothered.  
“You will still address me as Sir, Potter. And I have no desire to stop you.”  
  
“Honestly, Potter,” began Draco, “I imagine he’d enjoy destroying it himself.”  
Harry’s eyes widened and he looked down at the horcrux. “I had assumed you would do it,” he said before looking back at Draco. “But I don’t have a problem with Snape destroying it. If he wants to. And if you’re okay with that. I mean, we had pretty much figured it should be your turn, but if you want to give it away, I ...” Harry shrugged, obviously confused by this turn of events.   
  
“I don’t think it would be wise for me to attempt such a thing,” said Snape.  
Hermione cringed at the sarcastic, guttural sound that came from Harry. But Snape seemed unperturbed.   
“I think it is past time you find your patience, Potter,” Snape said, his tone bored. “I want that eyesore destroyed. However, I have been a Death Eater for decades. I am not a good man. And I suspect the darkness in me would be fascinated by whatever persuasion that thing has to offer to me.”  
  
“You mean it could possess you?” Draco asked.  
Snape nodded. “Albus provided me means to study these in some detail when I was attempting to find a cure for the curse on his hand. There is lore that the fragment of a soul could consume a living being if it could provide a suitable temptation. The longer the exposure to the horcrux, the worse it could be. Unless, of course, when attempting to destroy the horcrux the person surrendered instead; then the possession would be immediate.”  
  
Ron was nodding his head. “We were horrible to each other when we had to carry one around with us for months,” he said. “Before you gave us the sword to destroy it.”  
Snape stared at Ron, apparently unaware that they had known that detail. He scowled at Draco who just smirked at him.  
  
Hermione, however, had begun to feel very dizzy. Her vision was obscured by glimmers of light that were distracting her from the conversation. She stared at the Diadem and couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t imagining what she was seeing. What she had been seeing on multiple occasions, now. The feeling of vertigo was back and she forced herself to close her eyes.  
  
“Miss Granger?” Snape said, alarmed.  
Hermione recognized Draco’s scent as he steadied her and eased her to a sitting position on the floor.  
“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Ron asked. “You’ve turned green.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened her eyes again. She stared at the sunrays that were dancing from the Diadem to Professor Snape. Sunrays when there was no sun.   
  
She sucked in air, before turning to Draco. “What did the lines look like to you? Do you remember at all?” she asked him.  
Draco looked confused. He shook his head and turned to Harry, silently asking for help.  
Harry approached them and crouched down in front of her. He had followed her line of thought easily, however. “Like rainbows, but you could see through them.”  
  
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Luna had never touched her while she was lost to her third eye like she had Draco and Harry, had she? Why was she seeing the lines?  
She looked back at Harry and exhaled. “Like from a prism?” she asked, hoping for his disagreement.   
But Harry nodded once and looked to Draco, who seemed to have caught on to what she was saying. Hermione noted that the two seemed to be communicating with each other a great deal. It should have been comforting to know that they had crossed another divide and were undeniably a team now. But the realization that she had been seeing the lines for months had taken over her attention.  
  
“Do you remember when Luna had me try on the spectrescopes in the library? And said she saw Wrackspurts by Neville’s head?” Hermione didn’t wait for a reply, but hurried forward. “Well, I saw them, too. Or flashes of colorful light that I decided were my imagination. That they were some kind of sun glare on the lenses. But I kept coming back to that memory, Harry. And I always used that image when I imagined what the lines looked like, because I kept thinking that’s what I had seen. I’d brush it away, but it was like a fact at the same time. And after Dumbledore died, I saw the spectrum of colors in my room. I imagined they were the melody of Fawkes as he sang his farewell, but they weren’t.”  
“What were they?” Harry asked quietly.  
“I’d asked Luna if there was any outcome where Bill wasn’t disfigured. And she’d told me that all of the layers and lines ended badly, some of them worse. That night, while Fawkes sang, I saw all of the different outcomes and found peace that it had been the best possible one.”  
  
“This is not how the oculi somniantes works, Miss Granger,” Snape snapped, as if affronted by this waste of his time. He turned to Harry, pointedly ignoring Hermione. “There are things that have to be explained to you, Potter. You must realize the horcrux should be destroyed before that. I must go to the Dark Lord soon and we do not have time to waste on an exhausted girl’s deliriums.”  
“I want to hear the rest,” Harry said. “I think it’s important.”  
“As do I,” said Draco. “Luna has been avoiding this.”  
  
Hermione almost smiled as Snape grit his teeth and crossed his arms, all but rolling his eyes at what she imagined he viewed as the dunderheads he was forced to interact with. But her memories sobered her brief distraction.  
“During my torture, I was able to mentally block some of the curses because I saw them coming.”  
Draco pulled her closer to him at the mention of her torture, drawing her to his side and wrapping his arm around her.   
  
Snape scrutinized her and crouched down beside Harry so that he could look her in the eyes. “How could you see them?” he demanded.  
Draco tensed at Snape’s harsh command. Hermione nestled closer to his side and placed her hand on his, trying to assure him she was fine.   
“I can’t really remember. It was as though I could see them forming around Bellatrix like a halo. Absurd, isn’t it? To imagine that creature as an angel?”  
“Demons are but fallen angels,” Snape murmured, still looking at Hermione critically.  
  
“Could you see them when you threw the dagger?” Ron asked.   
Hermione actually laughed. “Of course,” she said through her smile. “You don’t think I could have made that mark without the aid of magic, do you?”  
“How?” asked Harry.  
“I released the handle as soon as the blade touched the rays of light connecting to her face. I honestly never saw the dagger leave my hand. It was there one instant and she was screaming the next.”  
Snape cleared his throat to hide his smirk, but Hermione just grinned at him, unwilling to allow him to ignore her accomplishment.   
  
“What did you see just now? Before you went pale?” asked Draco. He was gripping her hand in his own, and easing one of her white curls from her face with his other hand. She felt a flutter in her belly as he scrutinized her and was finding it difficult to focus on his question.  
  
But Snape was on his feet and walking away from them. “I have had enough of this drivel. You foolish children waste time when people are being overwhelmed outside this room? The Dark Lord is here! There are those who are aiding him inside this castle! It is time for you to destroy this horcrux and keep moving! I have not sacrificed everything for it to have been wasted on fables and poor choices.”  
  
“Oye!” Ron said loudly. “Check your pratty attitude,” he said. He stood in front of Snape, who had turned at Ron’s outburst. Ron’s stance was that of a soldier, ready for anything. “We’ve been running our arses off for months. We’ve been fighting for years! We’ve learned to trust our instincts. So, shut your hole. Sir.”  
  
Snape’s face turned red and his eyebrows furrowed, but Ron did not back down.   
“Professor Snape,” Hermione said.   
Hermione’s voice was soft, but determined, and distracted the men from their confrontation in the contrast it was to their anger. “You have to destroy the horcrux. That’s what I saw,” she said, having recalled Draco’s question.  
  
“I do not have to do anything,” Snape said.   
Harry’s mouth opened and Hermione watched in horror as the sunrays in the room began to shake. Quickly, without stopping to think, she leaned forward and placed her hand over his mouth to quiet him. She immediately remembered all the times that Luna had poked or nudged a person about to put their foot in their mouth, and had a better appreciation for her friend.   
  
“Are they really fighting in the castle?” Ron asked sharply. “What about my sister? And the younger students?”  
Harry’s eyes narrowed and he looked to Ron. “They can use the tunnel to the Hogshead.”  
Draco shook his head, “Luna said we couldn’t use the room anymore.”   
  
“Between Miss Lovegood and the ghosts, other tunnels have been discovered. Miss Abbott is in charge of directing the younger students, and any who do not wish to fight, to the tunnel under the kitchens that leads to the Train Station.”  
  
“Sir. You have so much courage,” Hermione interrupted. She was looking intently at Professor Snape and the three young men quieted, seeming uncomfortable. “I cannot imagine the difficulties you have faced. The burden of having to be alone in your secrecy. You just said that you have sacrificed everything. When you destroy the horcrux, don’t let it be wasted by more sorrow.”  
  
Hermione held her breath. She’d meant every word, but she knew that her former professor was a pessimist and, as a Slytherin, would see only her motivation for saying them. But Harry, thank goodness, had calmed down. And rising slowly to his feet he held his hand out to Hermione.   
  
Without delay, she pulled open the beaded bag and summoned the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry took the weapon and approached Snape, offering the sword and the Diadem for the man to destroy.   
  
With Draco’s assistance, Hermione rose to her feet. The four students circled the man who was staring at the sword. His face was blank. His stance was stiff. But he deliberately kneeled and placed the Diadem on the ground.   
  
“This is madness,” he said. “What will you do if I fail?”  
Harry frowned. “End it.”  
Snape eyed the dark-haired boy, as if trying to decide what Harry had meant by those words, before turning his attention back to the horcrux at his feet.  
“Are you ready?” he asked them.  
“As we’ll ever be,” answered Ron.   
  
And squaring his shoulders, Severus Snape lifted the sword over his head before he heaved it down upon the cursed headdress.  
  
Everything seemed to stop, as if the world had paused in its rotation. There wasn’t any sound, and Hermione realized she had never truly understood how deafening absolute silence could be. And then, like a pin drop, a noise echoed from the point of the sword that touched the Diadem. Snape appeared to have hesitated, the swing easing at the end of its stride. They all watched, awestruck, as the blade of the sword turned black, from tip to hilt, before what seemed like lava started to crack through the darkness.   
  
Hermione had never heard the sound of an erupting volcano, but she imagined that was the noise that had started coming from the Diadem. The stillness was replaced by a rocking. And the chill that had lingered from the ghosts was replaced by a sweltering heat. A steamy haze was rising from the headdress, and Hermione watched as it took the form of a woman. Hermione recognized her.  
  
“Mum!” shouted Harry, almost forgetting himself to run to the phantom.  
“Harry, no!” Hermione shouted.   
He had already stopped, however, and was again focusing on Snape.  
  
_“You promised to save him! You wept over my body and vowed to protect him! To make things right!”_ the figure said, her voice angry.  
Snape sobbed, tears already falling down his face. “Oh, Lily. I am so sorry! I didn’t know; I didn’t know it would be you!”  
_“Does that make it better?” _the phantom snapped, her voice distorted in her fury. _“Do you think I would despise you any less if it had been another family? Another boy? Would you still be one of his followers if it had been Neville instead of Harry?”_  
“But it wasn’t him! It should have been him! His parents were practically dead, anyway. Why did it have to be you that died!”  
  
Hermione was horrified. She looked to Draco and saw the disgust on his face, too. His friendship with Neville, though still hard to comprehend, was important to him. Draco looked over to Harry, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. The heat of the room was unbearable and they were all sweating. Drops were sliding down her spine.  
  
_“Give up, Severus. You are no hero. You are a COWARD!”_  
  
Snape was shaking his head in denial, his grip on the sword shaking.   
Draco stepped forward. “I don’t believe it, godfather. You would have still helped the Order. You would have realized the fraud that the Dark Lord is and been disgusted.”  
Hermione moved just behind Draco. “It’s easy, Sir,” she said, “to think the worst of yourself. I believe that’s why you are cruel to Neville. You hate that he was not marked as the Chosen One. But you fear what that may have meant for you if he had been!”  
  
But Snape only laughed. A cruel sound. “You fool yourselves. I told you that I am not a good man,” he bit out, spittle flying from his mouth.  
_“You were never a good man, Severus. You never saw me as anything more than a mudblood!”_  
“No!” Snape shouted. “That’s not true! I loved you!”  
  
Hermione was relieved to see that Ron was watching Harry very closely.  
It was surprising, however, that Harry didn’t look angry. He was focused, staring intently on the scene in front of him, before stepping closer to Snape.   
  
“You may not be a good man,” Harry said. His words caught Snape’s attention, and the older man squinted his eyes at him.   
“Are you a bad man, though?” Harry asked. “You’ve done bad things, but are you evil? Do you want Voldemort to win? Do you want Hermione to be slaughtered? Do you want me to die?”  
  
Snape grit his teeth and took in a deep breath before staring back down at the horcrux. The room continued to shake and a deafening thunder vibrated off the ceilings.   
_“You were never worthy of my love! You were just a sniveling little nobody. You were never good enough for me! Just give up, Snivellus!”_  
  
“Help me,” Snape said suddenly. “Something’s wrong! It’s burning!” he screamed.  
  
_“Stop what you’re doing, Snivellus! You are mine! You cannot destroy me without destroying yourself!”_  
  
The lava-like ribbons breaking through the black blade were slithering up his arms, pulling his hands tight against the hilt of the sword. The four students moved as one, standing behind him and leaning their weight on his elbows and back to help him push the sword all the way down.   
  
A loud shriek filled the massive room, shaking the walls and knocking down spires of objects. Books seemed to self-combust, candles melted and smoke wafted up to the ceiling from numerous piles.   
  
The phantom of Lily Potter morphed into that of Tom Riddle, his face dissolving into the shape of a snake’s head and his eyes slitting into yellow orbs. A large flame erupted from the melting Diadem, lashing out at Snape’s arm and banding around it like the knot of a rope. The force of it pushed the four young people away from Snape, hurtling them towards the nearby piles.  
_“You will not be spared…”_ hissed the image of Voldemort.  
With one final, loud yell, Severus Snape pushed the sword into the Diadem and collapsed to the floor, the dust of the dark magic enveloping him before vanishing from the air.   
  
His screams were terrible. Hermione rushed to her former teacher, the anxiety in her chest making it impossible to breathe. Draco was there before her, kneeling down beside his godfather, and rolling up the sleeve of his robes. Snape’s Dark Mark was glowing, the same lava color that had been on the sword. His skin seemed to be boiling, bubbles popping up along the design on his arm.   
  
“Merlin,” Ron said behind her. “What do we do?”  
“Hermione,” said Harry. He pulled her away from Snape and turned her to face him. “Can you see any more of the lines? Of the spectrum? Why was he supposed to be the one to destroy it if it would do this to him?”  
Hermione sobbed. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”  
  
She placed her hands over her ears, trying to block out the screams, but she couldn’t look away. And then Draco looked at her, his light eyes calming her. His expression silently confirmed his faith in her; that he believed she could figure this out. Momentarily, she felt that should could see the spectrum again, shimmering between Draco and herself. She lowered her hands.   
  
“It’s almost done,” she said, though she didn’t really know. “We just have to wait.” She forced a confidence she didn’t feel, knowing she had to keep them calm.  
Draco’s eyes narrowed. He frowned, briefly, before he turned back to his godfather.   
In just a few short moments, the screaming stopped. They all stared, dumbfounded, at the Dark Mark on Snape’s arm. It was inflamed, with blisters all around it, distorting the image into that of a grotesque face.   
  
“Does your arm work?” Draco asked his godfather quickly. “Are you able to use it as you normally would?”  
Snape started flexing his fingers and moving his arm back and forth. He groaned in pain, but his movements seemed strong. “There is no unexpected pain or resistance,” he answered.  
“That’s good,” said Draco. At Snape’s sharp look, Draco frowned. “Right?” he asked his godfather.  
  
Snape rose to his feet, the Sword of Gryffindor abandoned on the floor. “Something was done to this mark,” he said. “The horcrux said that I would not be spared.”  
  
Hermione had pulled essence of dittany from her bag and handed it to him. Snape took it mechanically, but stared at the bottle suspiciously. He opened it, sniffed the contents and held the bottle up to the light before he applied the substance to his arm and nodded a quick thank you to the witch.   
He stilled, however, when he looked down at his injured arm. The ointment worked quickly. The burns were gone almost immediately. And though his arm was still tattooed, the ink was no longer black.   
  
He lifted his arm, his mark on display for them to see. Hermione inhaled, her eyes drawn to the rune that replaced the skull of the Dark Mark. Three swirling circles, connected, but somehow seeming to push away from each other.   
“Betrayal,” she whispered.   
Snape nodded. “I have been marked as a traitor who will likely face the worst torture the Dark Lord can imagine.”  
  
She was tempted to touch the mark, her finger already prepared to graze the design, before she thought better of it and pulled her hand tight against her chest. She continued to study it, however. The snake had also changed, but she was not familiar with the image.   
“What is it that other symbol?” she asked.  
  
Draco chuckled softly and she turned to him. “A Sparkling Conran,” he said.  
Hermione wasn’t sure if he was serious. But the image of Luna pulling the dark magic out of Draco’s arm came to mind before the sound of Myrtle’s voice turned their attention to the ghost’s presence soaring hysterically over the giant room.  
  
“The shield has been broken!” Myrtle yelled from high above their heads. “They’re in the castle!”  
Myrtle began howling loudly, floating through the piles of junk and scattering objects in her frantic state. She wooshed down in their midst before wailing morosely and disappearing through the wall, screaming her warning for all of Hogwarts to hear.  
  
“Potter, we are out of time,” Snape said testily. He reached into his robes and pulled out a vial containing a cloud-like substance. “You know what to do with this?” he asked.   
  
At Harry’s nod, Snape turned. His robes billowed behind him and he made his way back down the aisle he had originally come from. The door was back, though solid now.   
  
“Do you have to join them, Severus?” Draco called after him. “Should you? What if he knows what you’ve done?”  
Snape stopped, but did not turn around. “Without knowing how this night will end, I cannot give up my role as spy.”  
“Do you even know if that mark is working? Are you just assuming that he has summoned you?” Hermione asked.  
  
At Snape’s silence, Ron swore. “He was summoning you before you even destroyed the horcrux.”  
Snape turned, an unfamiliar look of approval on his face. “That’s correct, Mr. Weasley. Three points to Gryffindor.”  
  
“Does your mark still work?” Draco asked.  
Snape seemed to consider his words before answering. “It stopped signaling to me the moment I struck the Diadem. For what exact reason, I do not know.”  
  
Draco turned to Harry. “Can you use your mind connection to find out?”  
“No!” Snape ordered. “You must keep your walls up, Harry!” he said, surprising them all by his use of Harry’s first name.   
Harry shook his head. “I think it’s safe to say that your betrayal would have really made him angry. And I haven’t felt that.”   
  
Harry looked at the group before his gaze fell on Hermione and Ron. She felt her heart stop, realizing what was coming. She started to shake her head, but stopped herself. He was prepared, and she would not make him worry more than he had to. So, she nodded instead and blinked back her tears.  
  
Harry turned back to Snape. “Tell him that you and I have come to an agreement. I will surrender to him if he stops his attack.”  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes before turning back to the door again. “View those memories, Potter, before you do anything stupid.”  
Snape’s pace was rapid, and he was soon gone.  
  
“Harry?” Ron asked, his voice hesitant.  
“We have to find another way to kill the snake,” Harry said. He picked up the sword that Snape had discarded. “We still have this, but it would be best to separate. We have to assume that Voldemort won’t take my offer.”  
  
“What can destroy a horcrux?” Draco asked.  
“The sword works because it’s imbued with Basilisk venom,” said Hermione. “Fiendfrye would also work.”  
“The Carrows were teaching that incantation. I wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to control it, though,” Draco said.   
“What about Slytherin’s monster? Did they get rid of the Basilisk’s body?” Ron asked.  
  
“Brilliant, Ron!” Harry exclaimed.  
Draco, however, looked confused. Harry laughed while shaking his head at the Slytherin. “Don’t worry, Draco. It’ll all make sense when you see it. But as your godfather said, we are out of time. I need to view this,” he said, holding up the vial Snape had giving him. “So, who’s going to go to the Chamber of Secrets?”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Luna moved through the corridors easily, ignoring the battle ensuing around her. She effortlessly walked between duels, her movements timed perfectly to miss the spells being thrown. Her hair and yellow dress were singed in places, but she was unharmed.   
  
She was oblivious to how frightening she looked. Her eyes were glowing purple, like the charge of a cast spell dancing on the air before striking its target. Her focus was solely on getting them through this night so that the next prophesy could be dealt with.  
  
It wasn’t long before she saw him hurrying to the tower window and she cut him off before he could make his escape. She had to make sure it was done, first. No matter how much she wished it hadn’t been necessary.  
“Headmaster,” Luna greeted Severus Snape.  
  
He had stopped midstride to keep from colliding into her. He approached quickly and, checking to be sure they were not seen, guided her to a dark corner. “You’ve been keeping secrets, Miss Lovegood,” he drawled. He was looking at her carefully, as if inspecting a potion that hadn’t done what it was supposed to.  
  
Luna took advantage of his distraction and grabbed his arm, pulling his sleeve and inspecting the new mark on his arm. She sighed and blinked quickly.  
“How did she convince you to destroy it?” Luna asked.  
“Did you put her up to it? Was that why she was prattling on about spectrums? Did you tell her what I would need to hear in order to do such a foolish thing?”  
  
“I didn’t tell her.”  
  
“How can she see them? Is she actually able to see thme?” Snape asked after a stunned silence. “And she said that Draco and Potter had, as well.”  
Luna considered him, looking him over carefully. Her eyes swirled and she touched the air around his head, her hand acting as though she was pulling apart invisible fabric. Severus stepped back suddenly, obviously uncomfortable with her movements.  
  
Luna stared at him, unruffled by his retreat. “She started seeing them after I accepted my gift. That was part of the reason I asked her to help me learn as much about it as possible. I could see her oculi somniantes flickering, trying to wake up.”  
“Are you saying that she can do what you can?” he asked. His question was dripping with doubt, as if he were mocking her.  
  
Luna just smiled at him. “I learned more about my gift from my father; before I even knew that I had it. Do you know why?”  
Snape was quiet, waiting for her to answer her own question.  
She obliged. “He was never going to be able to see magic the way my mother could. But his oculi somniantes was compatible with hers. When my mother started yielding her magic completely, she awakened his. He became able to see magic in a way that hasn’t been seen in centuries. Not the way my mother could, but the way we all could before the ability was lost to us. He became afraid of it after it killed my mother. He went a little mad with it, honestly,” she added with a sad laugh. “But he could still see it. He still knew it was real. And he explained it to me the best way he could. Hermione’s ability is waking up just like his did.”  
“Because her magic is compatible with yours?” Snape asked.  
  
“Harry’s is the most compatible to mine. But because of what he faces tonight, his is hindered. And it is no matter, anyway,” she said, the last words taking on a bitter sound.  
Snape scowled, his thoughts following the dark path Luna’s had gone. Luna shook her head quickly, her eyes swirling blue for a brief moment before once again becoming purple.  
  
“How do you know all of this?” Snape asked. “I can’t believe Rowena’s portrait could have this knowledge!”  
Luna blinked at him, but did not answer his question.  
  
“And Draco?” he asked when Luna didn’t continue.  
“Is compatible with Hermione,” she said. “Their oculi somniantes are the most compatible; more so than Harry and mine. And until both of them have awoken fully, it is dangerous for them to separate.”  
  
“What if they don’t?”  
“Then they won’t defeat Bellatrix.”  
“Why did you look disappointed that my mark had changed?”  
  
Luna faltered, surprised that he had noticed. She slowed her breathing, following the lines, but he grabbed her shoulders.   
“Answer me!” he said. “Answer me as Luna Lovegood and not whatever it is you’re becoming!”  
  
She frowned. “That she could convince you to do something you didn’t want to scares me, Professor,” Luna said. “I don’t know if I could stand to lose my friends. I don’t know why the ability to see magic was ever lost to us. My mother died in her pursuit to find out! I was there… I was there when her eyes became diamonds and she burst into a kaleidoscope of magic around me. I fear that is my future! I cannot tolerate that to be theirs!”  
  
“I don’t understand you,” Snape said. He had stepped towards her, but hesitated just outside her reach.   
Luna held out her hand, though, her eyes focused on his marked arm.   
Snape glared at her, before holding it out to her.   
Tentatively, she raised the sleeve of his robes and examined the mark. It was a rust colored pattern now, the color of dried blood.  
“Do you know what this is?” she asked, her finger hovering above the image that had replaced the snake.   
  
“Draco seemed to,” Snape said. His voice was quiet, as if her movements had provided him calm.  
Luna looked at him, waiting. “He called it a Sparkling Conran,” Snape said.  
Luna smiled. “Yes, that’s what my father called it.”  
  
Snape waited, but Luna only smiled pleasantly at him. She continued to smile as he narrowed his eyes at her, as if his customary scowl would have any effect on her.   
“Have you thought about what I asked you to do, Professor?” she asked him.   
Her question confused him.  
  
“Show me you want to live, Sir, and I will show you what I’m capable of.” She rolled down the sleeve of his robes. Firmly, she placed her palm over the mark and rubbed the fingers of her other hand that she held over their touching limbs. “The three of them cannot see the lines like I can. They will only ever see a glimmer where I see brilliance. But ancient magic is awakening, Professor.” She paused, lowering her hand and releasing his arm. “I am terribly sorry for how much this will hurt,” she said quietly.  
  
He was staring at his arm, however, seeming oblivious to her words. Until he felt the burning sensation of the Dark Lord’s call on his arm. He cried out, and again pulled up the sleeve of his robe, revealing the Dark Mark on his arm, as black and ugly as he had remembered.  
  
He looked up to question her. She was gone. Frustrated, but unable to ignore the pain from his summons any longer, he stalked to the tower window. The Dark Lord had taught him many things about dark magic and so it was without concern that he leapt off the ledge to fly towards the Shrieking Shack. And as he came closer to his fate, he tried to envision the spectrum Miss Granger had described to be what was leading him there.  
  
  



End file.
